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BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 


OXLEY 

I Vol., i2mo, Cloth, 441 pp., $1.00. 


MARGARET 

I Vol., 121110, Cloth, 360 pp., $1.00. 


SYBIL TBEVYLLIAY 



[Mrs. REGINALD'^HUGHES] 


AUTHOR OF “OXLEY,” “MARGARET,” ETC. 


Life treads on life, and heart on heart . — Mrs. Browning 



NEW YORK 

WARD & DRUMMOND 

711 Broadway 



Copyright, 1892, by 
WARD & DRUMHIOND 




All Rights Reserved 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

No day so damp with the mist and cloud 
That the rains never cease in the air; 

No place so rude with the brambly wood 
But some useful herb groweth there ; 

And nothing by Fate is so desolate 
But a smile may be found somewhere. 

— Ovid — translated by Worsley. 

I T is one of those bitter March days, when the wind 
finds its way in at the closest shut doors and win- 
dows, and the couch on which Mr. Trevyllian lies sleep- 
ing is drawn up near the fire. The blazing logs on the 
wide hearth send a warm glow through the room, bright- 
ening its rich, but somewhat sombre coloring; while 
having long passed the noisy stage, their soft murmur 
would not waken the lightest sleeper, as Sybil, who keeps 
watch beside her father, is glad to believe. 

A book lies open in Sybil’s lap, but she has not turned 
a leaf since the tired eyes closed ; and though she has 
given a pitying thought to the half-frozen buds outside, 
that have shown their green heads too soon ; and to the 
few brave starlings and thrushes that hop about on the 
sodden lawn, she is hardly conscious of the storm, except 
when a wild gust of sleet-laden wind sweeps by; then 
she turns anxiously to the worn face beside her, thank- 
1 1 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ful to find its quiet lines undisturbed ; but turns quickly 
away, lest hei ^ ze should be more disturbing than the 
riotous wind. Her eyes follow the icy drops that jostle 
each other down the window panes, or watch the 
writhing branches of the great cedar at the foot of the 
lawn ; and sometimes they rest dreamily on the portrait 
that hangs opposite the chimney, where the fire casts 
ruddy lights and shadows, playing strange tricks with 
the stately image of the great-grandmother. 

It is one of those radiant portraits that might make 
the Millais’ and Sergents of to-day envious of Romney’s 
good fortune in having apparently only beautiful women 
to paint, with those pale, clinging draperies, that must 
always have the charm of grace, though, alas ! not of 
fashion ; and Sybil is very like the portrait. Even now 
that she is in mourning for her mother, who died rather 
less than a year ago, and pale and heavy-eyed from loss 
of sleep, and grief at the sudden alarming illness of her 
idolized father, no one could fail to be struck by the 
resemblance. She has hair of the same rare shade of 
golden brown, and it lies about her forehead in the same 
soft waviness that cannot be imitated by tongs or 
crimping pins ; there are the same lovely eyes of violet 
gray, and the same delicate outlines of cheek and chin ; 
the curves of the softly closing lips, too, are the same. 
Yet, withal, there is a difference. One would never 
doubt that the original of the portrait had been tres 
grande dame in her day ; the pose of the graceful head, 
the delicate suggestion of coquetry in the eyes, and the 
air of conscious power over hearts, all betoken the graci- 
ous sway of a queen of society : while Sybil’s face would 
set one thinking of infinite possibilities of happiness and 
suffering, of tenderness and self-devotion. You would 
watch for the melting of the sweet gravity into smiles, 
or for the eyes and lips to sparkle with fun ; and when 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


3 


you had seen it you would be at a loss to say when the 
charm was greatest. 

Sybil rather resents being called “ the image of her 
great-grandmother” — she feels it to be an injustice to the 
renowned beauty of which the family are so proud ; and 
some three years before this March day, when a relative 
came on a visit from a distance, never having seen the 
portrait or Sybil before, and descanted volubly upon the 
many points of likeness, she proceeded to paint a por- 
trait of herself, which should set forth the tt^i-likeness. 
She had been staying at the seaside for a fortnight, and 
was still sunburnt, and she exaggerated that tint, as 
well as the healthy roundness of the cheeks ; she did 
full justice to the wear and tear of her navy-blue boat- 
ing-dress, and to the stout boots in which she had taken 
many a long tramp ; and the hand that rested on her 
French poodle’s black head was in a shabby dog-skin 
glove. 

When the picture was finished, in spite of all exagger- 
ation and misrepresentations, there was no mistaking 
for whom it was intended, and Sybil hung it in the 
library beside the courtly Romney, and waited with 
secret glee to see the effect on the family mind, no one 
having the least suspicion of what she was doing. As 
may be supposed, it was speedily banished in disgrace; 
but it still hangs in the portrait gallery, as the corridor 
is called that leads to Sybil’s studio. The gallery also 
contains numberless sketches of places Sybil loves, and 
a portrait of every dumb friend she ever possessed and 
of a few human ones as well. 

The great-grandfather’s portrait that hangs over the 
mantel, opposite his wife’s, was also painted by Rom- 
ney. The strong, yet gentle features are strikingly 
reproduced in Mr. Trevyllian, and with a difference in 
his son ; Lorrance is handsomer than either, but while 


4 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


the refinement and intelligence are there, the strength 
is somewhat lacking. 

“ What a nice long nap you have had, papa.” 

Mr. Trevyllian had opened his eyes suddenly, and 
met his daughter’s anxious look with a smile. 

“Yes, like the veriest owl,” he returned, as Sybil 
rested her cheek on the hand she had taken. 

“Owls are noted for their wisdom, you know,” she 
said. “ Now you must have some beef-tea,” she added, 
going to the bell. “ The doctor said you were to have 
something every hour ; but I knew very well there was 
nothing among the somethings that would do you so 
much good as sleep, after all those bad nights.” 

“ I think I feel the better for it,” the father responded. 

“ I am so glad !” Sybil said ferventl}^ going to the 
fire, which broke into a more cheerful blaze under her 
skilful touch. 

“ Don’t move, papa ! please,” she cried, as she took the 
beef-tea from the servant. “ I am going to feed you ; 
yes, I am. Nurses must always have their own way, 
whether their patients like it or not; they know so 
much better what is nice and comfortable for them. ” 

“Are they all tyrants and coddlers?” 

“ All the good ones are. ” 

“ I didn’t know, never having had any experience of 
them before.” 

Mr. Trevyllian submitted, with a humorous smile in 
his eyes, to having the napkin tucked under his chin 
and to receiving the beef-tea, spoonful by spoonful, 
from Sybil’s hand ; submitted partly to please her, and 
partly because he was conscious of the lurking pain 
about his heart that made him dread even the small 
exertion of feeding himself. 

Before the beef-tea was finished, Lorrance made his 
appearance. Mr. Trevyllian said, “Well, my boy,” 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


5 


and Sybil gave him a smile and nod by way of greeting. 
“ What are you doing to my father?” Lorrance asked, 
seating himself by the couch. 

“She is diverting herself by making a baby of me,” 
his father replied, with the pretence of a frown at 
Sybil. 

“ He has liked it much better than if he had fed him- 
self,” Sybil said, setting the empty basin on the table, 
and turning her brother’s face up for a kiss as she 
passed. 

“How are you feeling this afternoon, father?” the 
son asked. 

“Oh, better, thanks. I have been having a good 
dose of sleep, which my nurse declares to be the best 
of all medicines. What have you been doing with 
yourself?” 

“ A variety of little-or-nothings, ” was the reply. “ I 
had lunch with Aunt Helen and took her, or rather she 
took me, to the private view at the French gallery.” 

“ What a day for a private view ! ” exclaimed Sybil. 

“Yes, horrible weather, isn’t it, and afterward I 
bought a pair of gloves, and a dozen white ties, and 
some flowers for Sybil, for this evening, and came 
home. ” At the mention of white ties Sybil had started 
and given her brother a warning look, but he finished 
his list. 

“ What about this evening? What does Sybil want 
flowers for?” Mr. Trevy Ilian asked. 

“ If they are sweet enough for my patient, he shall 
have them to look at and smell,” Sybil said quickly, 
with another warning glance at Lorrie. 

“ What is it, Lorrie?” his father asked again. “ What 
are the flowers for? It is evident Sybil is trying to 
have a secret from me.” 

“I thought we were going to the Hargreaves’ ‘at 


e 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN, 


home,’” Lorrie replied, avoiding Sybil’s eyes; “we 
accepted the invitation, I believe.” 

“ Is it to-night?” 

“Yes; it was for the twentieth.” 

“ Well, of course, then, we must go,” said Mr. Trevyl- 
lian, with a smiling look at Sybil’s troubled face. 

“‘We,’ can only mean Lorrie, papa, for you can’t go, 
and I — shan’t. Lorrie must represent the family.” 

“I shall not go alone,” Lorrie declared moodily, “so 
the thing is settled,” and he got up and walked to the 
hearth. 

“ Oh, Lorrie, don’t say so ! ” pleaded Sybil. “ Why, I 
never heard of anything so absurd ! ” she cried, with a 
mixture of amusement and vexation in her tone — to the 
Hargreaves’, of all places in the world, to say you won’t 
go by yourself !” 

“I am quite ready to stay at home,” he replied, his 
face plainly showing how little he liked the alternative. 

“But, my dear child, why shouldn’t you go when 
Lorrie wishes it so much?” asked Mr. Trevyllian. 
“ Caroline will take excellent care of me, and I am 
feeling so much better for my nap.” 

“ I don’t want to leave 3"ou,” Sybil said, keeping back 
the tears with difficulty, and trying to speak cheerfully. 
“ If you could go, too, it would be another matter. ” 

“ Well, dear, you will go to please me, and your good 
friend, Mr. Hargreave,” her father said, drawing her 
to him, “ if you don’t care to please that grim-looking 
brother over there. Ring the bell, Lorrie, and don’t look 
so “melancholy. Caroline,” he said, when the bell was 
answered by that faithful servant, who had been Lorrie’s 
and Sybil’s nurse from the time Sybil was a baby, and 
now acted aS her maid, and housekeeper as well — ■“ Miss 
Sybil is going to a party at Lady Sara Hargreave’s to- 
night — nurses need a little change, now and then, you 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


7 


know — so put out her prettiest frock and her fineries, 
and let me see if she looks nice when she is dressed.” 

“She is sure to look nice, sir,” Caroline answered, 
gravely. She knew quite well what her master thought 
in the matter, but she had a great objection to having 
facts trifled with. 

“Why wouldn’t you go without me?” Sybil asked 
of Lorrie, as they sat over their dessert, later on. “ I 
feel really unhappy at leaving papa.” 

“ I said I would give it up — I will now, if you like. 
I thought you were going to please my father. ” 

“Yes, dear, but he saw how much you wished to go, 
and so did I, and I can’t understand your minding 
going by yourself.” 

Lorrie sat looking at his plate, as he leaned back, 
with his hands in his pockets. 

“ I haven’t had a chance for three words with you 
for the last week, or you might have known,” he said 
moodily. 

“You have had so many engagements, dear,” Sybil 
returned, thinking of her lonely dinners and breakfasts 
since her father’s attack. “ But, tell me now, has any- 
thing gone wrong?” 

“Everything is going wrong,” groaned Lorrie, rest- 
ing his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. 

“Do you mean about Nixie, dear? ” Sybil asked. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“ I am so sorry !” Sybil said, her face and voice full 
of sympathy. “ Tell me all about it.” 

“To begin with,” Lorrie replied, lifting a gloomy 
face and gazing into the fire while he spoke, “ I have 
not seen her — not so much as had a glimpse of her — 
since they came home from abroad, until to-day.” 

“Have you called again? I know they were out 
when you went last week, which was most tiresome.” 


8 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“I called on Wednesday, thinking that, as it was 
their ‘day,’ I might stand a chance of seeing her, but I 
might have known better,” he added, bitterly. “She 
had gone to some drawing-room concert with that old 
dowager. Lady Winstanley; a mere plot for getting 
her out of the way, in case I turned up.” 

“I can’t think that,” said Sybil, earnestly. 

“ I am certain of it, ” Lorrie returned, “ I stayed on 
playing the fool to Lady Sara’s five o’clock tea famil- 
iars, until I heard her tell somebody where Nixie was, 
anti then I came away. There was a fiendish gleam in 
her eyes when I said good-by; I could have crushed 
her hand, I was in such a rage.” 

“ Poor boy !” sighed Sybil ; “ but you did see her to- 
day — was it at the private view?” 

“ Yes, but it came to nothing. It was only an ag- 
gravation ; I had no chance to talk to her — hardly more 
than ‘ how do you do ’ passed between us and pausing 
an instant, as if reviewing an exasperating scene, he 
burst out : “ Good heavens ! how she did seem to sur- 
round her ! It was as if she had been a dozen harpies 
instead of one woman. I stood by, saying polite noth- 
ings to their friends, in the hope of snatching five words 
with Nixie; but, good gracious — Aunt Helen is good at 
managing, but she’s no match for her; she could do 
nothing for us.” 

“ Lady Sara is so wonderfully clever at such things,” 
sighed Sybil, torn between her sympathy with Lorrie’s 
troubles and her longing to go to her father. 

“ Yes, and as cruel as she is clever,” Lorrie responded 
hotly. “She knows that I love Nixie, and she has no 
reason to think that Nixie doesn’t love me. Yet she 
has made up her mind to part us, cost what it may to 
either of us. But she shall not do it,” he muttered be- 
tween his shut teeth. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“I can’t believe she wishes it, Lorrie dear — it has 
always been such an understood thing among us all that 
you belonged to each other, and what reason can she 
have?” 

“She has a reason, and I can tell you what it is,” 
Lorrie returned, stopping short in his angry pacing up 
and down. “ She intends Nixie to marry Lord Neth- 
erby.” The words fairly hissed as they fell from his 
white, trembling lips. 

“O Lorrie, what can make you think so?” asked 
Sybil, shocked and startled. “ I am sure you are mis- 
taken.” 

“ That is because you know nothing about it, ” Lorrie 
replied. “I happen to have heard yesterday that he 
was in Florence while they were there, and that he came 
home just after they did, and he will doubtless be there 
to-night — curse him !” he muttered, with angry eyes. 

“ But, dear, all that proves nothing, ” urged Sybil, 
though with a heavy heart. “ It might have been the 
merest chance ” 

“ There’s no use arguing, I knoiv that Lady Sara 
means Nixie to marry Lord Netherhy — whatever her 
father may think about it.” 

“ I am quite sure Mr. Hargreave has no such wish,” 
S5"bil said, eagerly. 

“ Well, Lady Sara has. He has money and a title — 
everything that such a woman would look for in a son- 
in-law. Little she cares whether her daughter is happy 
or wretched, so that her pestilent ambition is gratified.” 

“No mother could be so cruel,” said Sybil, “when 
once she knows that Nixie loves you ” 

“She knows it already,” cried Lorrie, fiercely. 
“ Didn ’t you say yourself, a moment ago, that it had long 
been an understood thing? But what difference does 
it make to her, when she sees that by a little manoeuvr- 


10 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ing she can secure an earl. She shall never have her 
wish,” he added, hotly; “he shall never marry Nixie! ” 

“ Lorrie, dear, I am sure it will all come right,” said 
Sybil soothingly, not seeming to notice the fierce pas- 
sion that burned in his eyes. “ You must have courage 
and a little patience ” 

“ Courage and patience !” repeated Lorrie, scornfully. 

“Yes, dear; you will see her to-night — and does it 
seem likely,” she added, with sudden hope, “that Lady 
Sara would have asked you there, if she was so anxious 
to keep you and Nixie apart, and if what you fear were 
true?” 

“ She could hardly leave me out, if she asked you and 
my father; and she couldn’t leave us all out when she 
is asking all the world, after an absence.” 

“Well, her mother wouldn’t forbid her talking to 
any of her guests.” 

“ She is quite capable of it.” 

“ And then, to-morrow, I should go to Mr. Hargreave, 
and ask his consent to an engagement. I know he 
would give it, and be only too pleased to see_Nixie and 
you happ 3 \” 

‘1 That’s all very well, but if you imagine that Mr. 
Hargreave has power to withstand his wife’s iron 
will, you show very little knowledge of the situation. 
She manages everybody, except, perhaps, Norman; in 
his quiet way he is too much for her, I believe. No, 
I shall try something more effectual than that.” 

“ What can you do? ” Sybil asked, anxiously watching 
her brother’s face, thinking that he looked the imper- 
sonation of a desperate purpose, as he stood with his 
hands tightly locked resting on the mantel, and his 
glowing eyes fixed on the fire. While she waited for 
his reply, Kifton came to say that Dr. Thornton was 
with Mr. Trevyllian. Sybil had sent for him as soon 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


11 


as it was settled that she should go with Lorrie, feeling 
that she must be reassured about her father before she 
went. 

‘‘I will come at once, Kifton,” she said, turning to 
her brother for one more word. 

“Sybil,” he said, his face flushed and intense, “you 
must help me to-night — will you?” 

“ I will do all I can,” she answered, looking puzzled. 

“ I mean that you must keep with Nixie as much as 
possible, and make opportunities for me to talk to her. ” 

“ I will do my best,” Sybil repeated gravely. 

“I think my fate will be decided to-night,” Lorrie 
said, turning from her. 

“Do you, dear?” she asked in a startled voice. “I 
can’t see how it could be.” She longed to know what 
was in Lorrie ’s mind, but felt she could not wait to 
find out now. Perhaps on their way to Portman Square 
he might tell her. 

“ There are more ways than one in which it might be 
done,” Lorrie replied, evasively; “ for instance, I might 
find that Nixie was being influenced by the mother, 
and turning against me — preferring a title to anything 
I can give her.” 

“That is not fair to Nixie, or to yourself either,” 
Sybil exclaimed. 

“When a man is desperate he can’t help himself,” 
Lorrie answered. “But one thing more,” he added 
quickly, as Sybil made a movement to leave him. “ I 
want^you to arrange for her to come some day soon — 
fix the day, you know — to try those Rubinstein duets; 
have her come to tea — will you?” 

“Yes, dear, I will do all I can to help you,” Sybil 
replied. “ I would even talk to Lady Sara the whole 
evening, for yours and Nixie’s sake! Self-devotion can 
go no further than that, can it?” 


12 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ I don’t think it could. Don’t be late — I have ordered 
the carriage at nine.” 

“All right. I shall be ready,” Sybil returned cheer- 
fully, while her heart was aching at the prospect of 
being away from her father so long. She was almost 
ready to turn back, when she had shut the dining-room 
door behind her, to tell Lorrie that she could not go. 
Only the thought that her father himself had settled it 
for her — that it was his wish, nerved her for the ordeal. 

“ I want to see papa safely in bed before I go, ” she 
said to the doctor. “ It isn’t too soon, is it, dear papa?” 

“ Not at all. I am quite ready to go now.” 

The doctor removed the rugs, and not without diffi- 
culty, even with Sybil’s help, Mr. Trevyllian stood up. 
“I feel rather shaky,” he said, and the doctor replied, 
“That isn’t to be wondered at, after having kept to 
your couch for a few days.” 

“ I wish — papa, do let Kifton and Lorrie take you up 
in the carrying-chair,” Sybil pleaded, seeing how slow 
and heavy her father’s steps were. 

“ What ignominy will you suggest for me next, 
nurse? ” he demanded. “ She actually insisted on feed- 
ing me to-day, doctor !” 

“ Well, it is only a question of submitting or rebel- 
ling,” the doctor said laughingly. “ It generally comes 
to that with these skilful nurses.” 

“ I shall rebel, in this case — there are limits, nurse, ” 
Mr. Trevyllian responded, and he slowly mounted the 
stairs, supported by Lorrie and the doctor, with occa- 
sional pauses for breath. 

“ Now run away, dear, and make yourself fine for the 
party,” he said to Sybil, when he was seated by the fire 
in his own room. Sybil lingered for a moment with a 
pretty mixture of smiles and wistfulness, and went 
away without speaking. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


13 


Caroline had been at hand to see that all was com- 
fortable for her master, and she was awaiting Sybil 
when she came to dress. 

“You will wear this, won’t you. Miss?” she said, 
pointing to a soft mixture of surah silk and crepon and 
jet, laid out on the bed. 

“ Yes, Caroline,” Sybil replied, without noticing what 
it was she was to wear. 

“And these pale gray gloves? and this fan?” 

“Yes.” 

Caroline’s face wore its usual calm, business-like ex- 
pression during the process of dressing, but all the time 
she was saying to herself, “ Poor dear !” and “ God help 
her !” 

It was barely nine when Sybil reentered her father’s 
room. He was comfortably settled in bed, and Sybil 
thought he looked less pale than when she had left him. 
She came and stood smilingly beside him. “ Do you 
think I shall do, papa?” she said, as he surveyed her 
with eyes full of tenderness. 

“Yes, dear. I think you will do,” was the reply; 
and any one must indeed have been hard to please who 
would have found any fault with Sybil in her dress. 
Her only ornaments were Lorrie’s roses — a bunch of 
half-blown ones — white and crimson, and three rows 
of pearls ; the very ones whose soft lustre had been so 
marvellously reproduced in the great-grandmother’s 
portrait. There was not a trace of color in her cheeks, 
and there was a lurking sadness in the sweet eyes, 
though the lips smiled. 

“Is Sybil here?” asked Lorrie at the door. 

“Yes, come in, Lorrie, and show yourself to papa; 
he has been inspecting me — it is your turn now;” and 
as her brother crossed the room to the bedside she 
thought, “No wonder Nixie loves him! Who could 


14 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


help it? and mustn’t any mother be proud of such a 
son-in-law !” 

“ I hope you are feeling better, father,” Lorrie said. 

“Yes, thank you, my boy.” 

“You don’t mind my taking Sybil away, I hope,” 
Lorrie said, with a flush and rather a rueful smile. 
He felt remorseful now that his wish was being grati- 
fled, and the fact that his father was really ill was 
pressed upon him by the pallor of the face that lay on 
the pillow. 

“Mind? of course not, my boy; it’s my own doing, 
not yours, ” his father answered. “Take good care of 
her and see that she enjoys herself. She will nurse me 
all the better to-morrow.” 


CHAPTER n. 


Rapt 

By all the sweet and sudden passion of youth. 

Sweet love that seems not made to fade away. 

— Tennyson. 

T he drive was a silent one. Sybil’s thoughts lin- 
gered by her father’s bedside, and Lorrie made 
no attempt to revive the subject of their talk ; but as he 
helped her from the carriage at Mr. Hargreave’s door, 
she said-: 

“I shall not forget, dear; I will do all I can.” ’ 

“ Thanks, I am sure you will,” was the reply. 

Sybil’s first sensation, on entering the house, was a 
shock — the brilliant scene was such a contrast to all 
that had gone before. But she was too young and 
buoyant not to be beguiled by the sort of enchantment 
Lady Sara knew so well how to prepare for her guests ; 
and she was, after a time, glad to find herself enjoying 
it, because she knew her father would have been pleased 
to have it so. 

Lady Sara greeted them so cordially that Sybil felt 
suddenly happy about Lorrie. “ Foolish dear, he has 
been making mountains out of mole-hills,” she said to 
herself. With Mr. Hargreave the brother and sister 
were great favorites, and Nixie was under his wing for 
the moment, so that while Sybil chatted with him, Lor- 
rance had a few minutes of bliss, reading everything 
his heart was hungry for in the brown eyes that met 

15 


IG 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


his so confidingly. But all too soon Lady Sara’s pol- 
ished voice broke upon their tete-a-tete. “Audley, 
dear, here is your old friend, Lady Winstanley, wait- 
ing to speak to you.” 

Audley turned, and was instantly monopolized, and a 
black pall fell on Lorrie’s spirits. He would not join 
the circle of which Sybil was the unconscious centre, but 
made his way into another room. Sybil was distressed 
to see how badly the evening was beginning, but hoped 
for better things by and by, trying not to seem uninter- 
ested in what was going on about her. 

“ I am afraid this is very dull for you young things,” 
Mr. Hargreave said, coming to her side again presently. 
“ I should have despised an ‘at home’ when I was your 
age. I tried my best to induce my wife to make it a 
dance, but for some inscrutable reason she wouldn’t.” 
Mr. Hargreave was very fond and proud of his hand- 
some, clever wife, but ‘inscrutable ’ was a word he of- 
ten applied to her sayings and doings. 

“ I don’t think an evening could be dull,” Sybil had 
replied, “with such a world of beautiful flowers, and 
such lovely music. ” 

“And so many fine dresses and nice people,” added 
Mr. Hargreave, with just the least bit of irony in his 
tone. “ You mustn’t leave out all our dear five hundred 
friends from your list of attractions. ” 

“ No, indeed !” responded Sybil. “ Do you think we 
might go to the music-room?” she asked, glancing at 
her programme. “ I should like to be nearer for the 
next song, and then I must look up Lorrie. We mustn’t 
stay late to-night. ” 

It was quite true that the next song was a favorite 
with Sybil, and the people about her would talk while 
the music was going on. But beside that, she had 
noticed that Lady Sara was in animated conversation 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


17 


with two or three gentlemen not far off, and she longed 
to know where Lorrie and Nixie were. She even dared 
to hope that they were together in some quiet corner ; 
she felt very remorseful at having done nothing for 
them yet. 

Mr. Hargreave gave her his arm, and they made 
their way slowly through the crowded rooms. “ I am 
distressed to hear that your father is still so unwell,” he 
said, “and sorry indeed that we couldn’t have the 
pleasure of seeing him here to-night.” 

Sybil felt that she could not trust herself to talk of 
her father, and as the first notes of Gounod’s “Ave 
Maria” came floating through the rooms at the moment, 
there was good excuse for her making no response to 
her friend’s kind words. As they reached the door 
of the music-room, the first object that caught her 
watchful eyes was Lorrie standing alone, with folded 
arms and gloomy face, and she tried vainly to at- 
tract his attention. Presently she saw that when- 
ever he looked anywhere but on the floor, it was in the 
direction of the conservatory, and by moving a very 
little she could see the train of Nixie’s white dress. 
Another slight change of position disclosed Lord Neth- 
erby standing beside her. “ Poor Lorrie ! ” She seemed 
to feel the jealous pangs that were burning his soul. 

“I am very sure Lorrie isn’t enjoying himself,” Mr. 
Hargreave said, when, the song being ended, they were 
making their way toward him. 

“We may as well go at once,” was his greeting to 
Sybil. 

“Oh, not yet — not yet!” cried Mr. Hargreave. “You 
must wait and have some supper.” The folding-doors 
at the end of the music-room had just been thrown open, 
disclosing the glitter of glass and silver, and an enticing 
display of eatables. “ I suppose I must go and get my 
2 


18 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


orders from my wife, and so must deny myself the 
pleasure of — oh, here’s Norman ! just in time to take 
Sybil in to supper. Norman !” 

“ I am lucky ! It is what I was hoping I might be 
allowed to do,” Norman Hargreave said, offering his 
arm to Sybil. 

“Where’s Nixie?” asked Mr. Hargreave. “You’d 
better find her, Lorrie.” 

“Oh, not at all,” Lorrie exclaimed, quickly; “she is 
otherwise engaged. I will ” 

“Nonsense,” cried Mr. Hargreave. “Lord Netherh3^ 
has monopolized her long enough . I ’ll go and fetch her. ” 

“That will be nice,” Sybil said. “We have hardly 
seen her yet, and we must go so soon.” 

Nixie came, smiling and happ}^, unlike Lord Neth- 
erby, who stood watching as the quartette disappeared 
into the supper-room. 

Lady Sara looked anything but pleased when she saw 
the turn things had taken, but there was no help for 
it ; and she managed to draw Lord Netherby to her side, 
and make herself agreeable to him and the M. P. whom 
she had honored with the privilege of bringing her an 
ice. 

When the quartette returned to the drawing-room 
Lorrie found a deep ba^^-window, with the heav}^ cur- 
tains drawn partly across, and he hastily led Nixie 
within their shadows. It was a safe retreat for the 
moment, and he lost no time in carrying out the resolve 
of which he had vaguely hinted to Sybil. 

“Nixie,” he began, taking her hands in his and hold- 
ing them so close that resistance was vain, “ I cannot 
and will not bear another minute of this suspense — this 
horrible misery that I have been enduring ever since 
3"ou went away, months ago! You do love me, don’t 
you, better than you do an^-body else?” he demanded. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


19 


with feverish eagerness. “Speak, Nixie, for God’s 
sake! I shall die of this suspense,” he said desperately, 
as Nixie still stood silent, with downcast eyes and 
quickened breath. “ Look up, and let me at least see 
in your eyes the love I cannot — ivill not — live without.” 

Nixie raised her eyes to the face bending over her, 
and what she saw there thrilled her more, even, than 
the desperate words had done. She felt that he must 
have died if she could not have said yes to his plead- 
ings — she had never dreamed of being loved like that. 
Happily, she thought, she could say “yes,” truthfully. 

“ I do — love you, Lorrie,” she said, shyly, but frankly ; 
“but it is so very sudden — you took me so by sur- 
prise.” 

What would Lorrance not have given to be able to 
take her to his heart at that instant, as he had every 
right to do after those sweet words ; hut he dared not, 
with that hubbub of voices, and those many eyes so 
close at hand. He could only give her a look that deep- 
ened the color in her cheeks. 

“ Then, darling,” he said, subduing his voice to some 
degree of calmness with an effort, “ you must give me 
your solemn promise that you will be true to me 
whatever comes, that you will never let any one else 
speak to you of love. Our engagement — for before God 
we are engaged,” he said, grasping her hands again, 
and pressing them to his heart for an instant, “ must be 
made known at once; it will be the only safeguard 

against ” he paused, and Nixie’s brown eyes opened 

very wide as they looked into his, that had a new and 
strange expression in them. 

“Why, Lorrie,” she said, somewhat perplexed, “of 
course I shall be true to you, and nobody, I am sure, 
wishes to speak of — love to me.” 

“Never mind, dearest,” Lorrie urged, feeling that 


20 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


time was pressing, “ only give me your solemn promise* 
Put your hands in mine, and say ” 

“Lorrie, I think we ought to say good-night.” It 
was Sybil’s voice at the opening of the curtains. She 
had seen Lady Sara making her way toward them, and 
hastened to notify Lorrie, feeling very like a cul- 
prit, as she met the clear, dark eyes of Norman Har- 
greave, with whom she had been talking while she kept 
guard for Lorrie. 

Lorrie had no choice but to withdraw with Nixie 
from their retreat, though he would have given much 
to have had her solemn promise in his possession before 
the interruption came. He blessed Sybil for helping 
her to recover herself, as she did, without knowing that 
there was anything to recover from, by entering at once 
into plans for her coming to tea and to try the duets ; 
and it was arranged that she should come on Tuesday 
— this was Saturday. Sybil hoped her father would be 
quite well by that time. 

The plans were barely settled when Lady Sara joined 
them, and Lorrie and Sybil made their adieux, with 
kindest messages from Lady Sara and Mr. Hargreave 
to their father. There was a great deal said in the 
brief meeting of hands and eyes that passed between 
Lorrie and Nixie, but no one was the wiser. 

“You do feel happier, don’t you, dear?” Sybil said, 
when she and Lorrie were on their way home. “ I am 
afraid you thought I had forgotten my promise, you 
looked so desperate when Mr. Hargreave and I found 
3^ou.” 

“ I did think it was all up, and was ready to shoot 
that pampered minion or myself, when you came so 
gallantly to the rescue.” 

“ I am afraid it was more Mr. Hargreave’s doing than 
mine,” Sybil returned. “Now, dear, you will lose no 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


21 


time in going to Mr. Hargreave, will you? I am quite 
sure he would rather you should have Nixie than that 
anybody else should. I should feel differently about 
aiding and abetting your treason against Lady Sara, 
if I wasn’t so certain of that,” Sybil added, flushing 
hotly in the darkness, as she thought of the eyes that 
had read their secret. 

“ I don’t care if all the world disapproves what I do,” 
Lorrie declared. 

“ No — what the world thinks is of small consequence; 
but it is nicer and more satisfactory to have Nixie’s 
father on your side, isn’t it?” Sybil said; “and I should 
go to him at once. I wouldn’t wait a day,” she urged, 
in spite of Lorrie’s silence. “Lord Netherby might 
speak first, and as Lady Sara is on his side, it might 
be awkward, mightn’t it?” 

“It might,” Lorrie replied, and nothing more was 
said during the drive. 


CHAPTER III. 


She will weep her woman’s tears, she will pray her woman’s 
prayers ; 

But her heart is young in pain, and her hopes will spring again 
By the suntime of her years. 

— Mrs. Bi'owning. 

W HEN they reached home, their eyes fell on the 
doctor’s hat and coat in the hall. 

“ Is Dr. Thornton still with my father ' Lorrie asked 
of Kifton, who let them in. 

“Yes, sir; he hasn’t left him.” 

“ He is no worse, is he?” 

“ He is better now, sir ; he was very bad for a while, 
since you went out.” 

Sybil waited to hear no more, but flew upstairs and 
was met at her father’s door by Caroline. 

“Come with me, dear,” she said. “I will tell you 
all about it while you take off your dress.” 

Sybil stood as if turned to stone, until Caroline put 
her arm about her and drew her on to her own room. 

“Your papa will be wanting to see you, and hear 
about the party,” she said, still cheerfully; “and you 
must put on your warm dressing-gown and be ready to 
go to him. He is much the same now as he was when 
you left him, so you mustn’t worry.” 

“ What was it?” Sybil asked at length, while Caro- 
line helped her to change her dress. 

“It was much like what he had before — the pain, 
you know. It was so fortunate that the doctor hadn’t 

22 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


23 


gone. He had the remedies all handy, and soon got 
the better of it.” 

“ The doctor must stay ; he must not leave him to- 
night.” 

“He isn’t going to leave him, dear; and I’ve got 
everything ready for you in the dressing-room ; it was 
your papa’s wish; he knew you would like it best.” 

Caroline’s cheerful tone did not prevent her words 
from falling like lead on Sybil’s heart. How much 
had happened since she had been away ! It seemed as 
if it must have been months, rather than hours ; and 
how trivial all things outside that quiet room, even 
Lorrie’s troubles, appeared to her as she entered, and 
her eyes fell on her father’s pallid face. She needed no 
warning to remind her that she must be calm, that any 
excitement would be harmful ; and if she had thought 
of herself at all she must have wondered at the steadi- 
ness of her voice, as she said, “ Poor papa — it was too 
bad ! T am so sorry, but I hope the pain is all gone 
now — are you really comfortable again? ” 

“Yes, my child; I am much better now, thank 
you.” 

How hollow and far away his voice sounded, and 
how his loving smile tore her heart, seeing as she did, 
more and more clearly, how drawn and shrunken the 
dear face had grown in that brief space of time. His 
hand closed tightly round hers, and it seemed minutes 
before she could speak again. 

“May I talk to papa, doctor?” she said at length; 
“ or must I wait until to-morrow to tell how much I 
enjoyed the party ?” 

“So glad, my darling,” her father said, opening his 
eyes to smile on her. 

“ It would be better to wait until to-morrow to discuss 
the party, I think,” was the doctor’s reply to Sybil’s 


24 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


question. “ The fact is, the sooner we are all quiet and 
your father is asleep, the better it will be for him." 

“ Must I go?” Sybil asked, wistfully. 

“Only to the next room, dearest,” her father said. 
“You can come back if I need you.” 

“Thank you, dear papa.” The door opened softly, 
and Lorrie appeared. “ Come and say good-night, dear. 
The doctor is sending us all away,” Sybil said as he 
came to the bedside. 

“ Can I do anything for you, father? I am a capital 
hand at keeping awake, if you would let me stay with 
you.” 

“Thank you, my boy. I think there is nothing you 
could do,” Mr. Trevy Ilian answered, pressing Lorrie’s 
hand. 

“ I hope your father is going to have a good night’s 
rest,” the doctor said. “I shall settle myself in that 
comfortable arm-chair, and be at hand if he should 
need anything.” 

“Then say good-night to papa, Lorrie, and come 
away.” Sybil laid her cheek against her father’s, and 
kissed him tenderly. 

It was years since Lorrie had kissed his father, but 
now he bent and pressed his lips to the pale forehead. 

“Dear boy!” murmured Mr. Trevyllian. “Good- 
night, my dear children — God bless you both.” 

His eyes followed them as they left the bedside, 
meeting Sybil’s with a smile when she turned for a last 
look before closing the door. 


CHAPTER lY. 


When some beloved voice that was to you 
Both sound and sweetness faileth utterly. 

What hope? what help? 

— Mrs. Browning. 

QHALL you shut the door into papa’s room?” 

O Sybil asked when Caroline had tucked her up 
on the couch and placed the shaded lamp where it would 
not shine in her eyes. 

“ If I didn’t I am afraid you would be imagining all 
sorts of things and never go to sleep at all,” Caroline 
answered persuasively. 

“Well — but don’t let me sleep too long, if I should 
go to sleep. Promise that you will call me if papa 
should be awake and I could be the least bit of comfort 
to him.” 

Caroline gave the desired promise and went away. 

For a little time, Sybil lay watching the faint shad- 
ows on the ceiling, thankful to feel that she was not at 
all sleepy, and assuring herself that she should know if 
there was the least movement in her father’s room. But 
suddenly the tired eyes closed, and she slept, at first too 
soundly for dreams. When she did dream it was not 
to be wondered at that her visions partook of the sad- 
ness of her waking thoughts. 

She seemed to be in a strange, lonely house, groping 
in darkness through desolate rooms in search of her 
father and mother, whom she had lost in some myste- 

25 


26 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


rious way. She was guided from one room to the next 
by a thin line of light beneath the door ; and the light 
istself was but another mystery, since each room, when 
she reached it, was dark and cold like the last. At 
length, when her terror and sense of desolation had 
grown intolerable, and she felt that she must cry aloud, 
and yet was too spell-bound to utter a sound, she came 
to a room in which a dim, sad light was diffused through 
every part ; and on the farther side, seeming strangely 
far away, she saw the pale, still figure of her mother, 
standing beside an empty bed. 

“ O mother !” she cried, in a voice that sounded faint 
and distant to her own ear, hurrying toward her as fast 
as her spell-bound feet would carry her — “ where have 
you been? I have been looking for you and papa so 
very long, and I have been so lonely?” But the pale, 
still figure neither turned nor answered. 

“Mother, mother!” she cried, in the same faint tones, 
stretching out her arms, and vainly striving to hasten 
her steps, “ I cannot reach you ! oh, come to me, and 
put your arms around me, I am so cold, so sad, oh, 
come !” 

“My child, I cannot,” was the answer, in a voice 
that was scarcely more than a sigh. 

“ Then, oh, mother darling, where is papa? Let me 
go to him and take you with me ; he will comfort us 
both.” 

“Poor child, poor child!” and with those words, 
sounding so mournful and far away, the pale figure and 
the dim light faded — faded slowly into darkness; and 
in the frantic effort to utter some pleading cry, Sybil 
awoke. 

She threw off the covering and sprang to her feet ; 
and only pausing long enough to realize where she 
was, and feeling that she could not stay alone with the 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


27 


memory of her dream, yet thankful to be awake and 
know it was but a dream, trembling and shivering, she 
softly opened the door into her father’s room. 

No one heard her enter, her movements were so 
noiseless, though, as she saw, the doctor stood be- 
side the bed with folded arms. He started when she 
came to his side, and laid his hand on her arm to draw 
her away; hut she shook her head, gently resisting, 
and seated herself so carefully, with a glance at her 
father, as if to say, “ I will not disturb him if I may 
but stay.” 

As her eyes became more accustomed to the shaded 
light, she saw that Caroline was standing at the foot of 
the bed, ’and that Lorrie sat close by, his head buried 
in his hands. She started up, and grasped the doctor’s 
arm. He laid his hand gently on hers, and for a mo- 
ment there was not a motion, not even a breath, it 
seemed. 

“ See how peacefully he sleeps, ” at length the doctor 
said, in tones that thrilled her very soul. 

She turned, after one quick, searching glance into 
the doctor’s eyes, toward the quiet face on the pillows. 
She reached out her hand, and laid it on the one lying 
there so unresponsive, but drew it back with a shudder, 
it was so cold. 

“ It is the dream,” she whispered. “ Oh,” she cried, 
suddenly, in a voice of anguish, “ will no one speak to 
me, and waken me out of this fearful dream? Caro- 
line, you promised ” 

Caroline’s tears were her only answer. Lorrie’s deep- 
drawn sobs, too, fell on her ear, and the terrible truth 
forced itself upon her. 

“Papa, papa! have I lost you? ” she cried, breaking 
away from the doctor’s gentle hold, and from Caroline, 
who would have folded her in her arms. “ Am I never 


28 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


to hear your voice again? O God! take me too,” she 
cried, lifting her clasped hands in wild entreaty. “ I 
cannot — I cannot live without him.” She threw her- 
self forward on the bed, with a moan of utter desolation. 

“Speak to her,” the doctor said, in broken tones to 
Lorrie, and he came. 

“My poor darling,” he sobbed, bending over her, 
“we must Jive for each other.” 

But Sybil did not hear him. For the moment she 
was unconscious of her loss. 


1 


CHAPTER Y. 

I use lieart, head, and hand all day. 

I build, scheme, study, and make friends. 

— Browning. 

^ ^ T AM SO sorry to have kept 3^011 waiting, Robert 
X dear, but I stopped to see Audley as I came.” 

Lady Sara took her place at the breakfast table, and 
Mr. Hargreave laid aside the morning paper, and lifted 
the cover from the hot dish before him. “Isn’t she 
coming to breakfast? ” he asked. 

“Ho — she has a headache, and I thought she had 
better have her breakfast in bed. Your tea, dear.” 

Mr. Hargreave took his cup, and Lady Sara proceeded 
to open some of the letters and notes that lay by her 
plate. 

“ Isn’t it rather absurd for a healthy young thing like 
Nixie to indulge in headaches and breakfast in bed 
every now and again?” Mr. Hargreave asked presently. 

“Headaches are not usually regarded as a luxury,” 
his wife answered absently, from the midst of her letters. 

“It isn’t coddling she needs,” Mr. Hargreave re- 
marked grimly, after a pause. 

“No; we are quite agreed on that point,” Lady Sara 
responded. 

“ But, unfortunately', we are not agreed as to a sub- 
stitute for coddling” 

“Very true, dear,” returned Lady Sara, buttering a 
piece of dry' toast ; “ but we have agreed to disagree — 

29 


30 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


have v^e not? Inasmuch as I, being her mother, must 
be allowed to be the best judge in the matter, you were 
to let me have my own way for once — is it not so?” 

“ I believe I did promise something or other — to let 
you have your own way for once, as 3"OU are pleased 
to express it. ” 

“ Oh, if you please, no innuendoes, ” cried Lady Sara. 
“ Who had his own way about coming back to dismal, 
foggy London in February, from sunny Florence? And 
who carried the day as to having the Trevyllians at the 
‘at home’ in March?” 

“And why shouldn’t we have had them, I should 
like to know? There wasn’t a handsomer fellow here 
that night than Lorrie, nor a prettier girl than Sybil, 
poor things, and such old friends, too !” 

“ That may he, hut one cannot be expected to invite 
all one’s old friends on all occasions, nor all one’s hand- 
some ones, either.” 

“You know Yorman thought as I did, that they 
ought to be invited,” Mr. Hargreave remarked. 

Lady Sara’s lips parted, as if she were going to re- 
ply; hut after a pause, during which the sudden fire 
that had gleamed in her eyes slowly faded, she went 
on as if she had not been interrupted : 

“ And as it was not advisable to throw young Tre- 
vyllian and Audley together needlessly, it clearly was 
not advisable to ask him here as soon as we got home. 
But I did not mean to open a discussion on that thread- 
bare topic — 'Only to cite instances to prove that I do not 
always have my own way.” 

“It would puzzle you to think of any more such in- 
stances,” Mr. Hargreave muttered, and his wife took 
up the letter she had laid down without replying. 
“ How look here, Sara,” he said presently, with rather a 
belligerent air, “ I want to have it out with you, once 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


31 


for all, about this going abroad again. You have 
wheedled me — yes, you have, my dear ; there never was 
a worse case of wheedling ; you have simply got round 
me, as you know so deuced well how to do. You talk 
on in your clever way until I hardly know whether my 
soul is my own or somebody’s else.” 

“ Fi done ! what charges to bring against the wife 
of your bosom !” 

“ Don’t done me, my dear. I am in dead earnest; 
and you know the charge is a well-founded one. Now, 
what I want to say is, that I hate this plot that I’ve 
made myself, or you’ve made me, a party to.” 

“ Don’t you think it is rather rude to call it a plot — 
my anxious planning for Audley’s good?” Lady Sara 
asked pensively. 

“I don’t know any name that suits it better,” Mr. 
Hargreave returned, leaving the table and walking to 
the window. “ I hope you quite understand that I am 
not going out of England again this year,” he added, 
turning about suddenly. “ I went abroad meekly enough 
last winter, losing all the covert shooting, and I intend 
to stay at home and enjoy Eden Wyck now.” 

“ Poor, persecuted man ! you should have had a wife 
who did not feel the bitterness of English winters.” 

“ I don’t want any sort of wife but the one I’ve got,” 
her husband replied, with the emphasis of sincerity ; 
“ but when I have sacrificed myself all winter for her 
sake, I want her to be contented to spend the summer 
at Eden for mine. You don’t need to go out of Eng- 
land to find nice summer weather — look at this morn- 
ing — it’s simply perfect.” 

“ I cannot call a June daj’ ‘perfect’ that has not a 
ray of sunshine,” Lady Sara remarked, with a glance 
from the window. 

“It’s all the better, to my taste — no glare to dazzle 


32 


SYBIL TRLVYLLIAN. 


your eyes; and search the world over, you won’t find a 
prettier country, nor a nicer old place than Eden Wyck.” 

Mr. Hargreave took a turn through the room, and 
came back to his station near the table. Lady Sara 
was resting her elbows on the edge of the tray, and her 
chin on her interlaced fingers ; and she looked up into 
her husband’s disturbed face with a deprecating smile, 
“Dear Robert,” she said, “how slow you are to take 
in an idea. I am not complaining of English summers 
— although I do think we have rather more rain and fog 
than we deserve, and less sunshine than we desire; 
and I can truly say that nothing would please me more 
than to spend the next few weeks at Eden Wyck, if it 
were not for the one circumstance that you persist in 
ignoring, the fact that the Norcliffes have taken that little 
place next door, as it were, and that the Trevyllians 
are sure to spend part of the summer with them there. ” 

“A perfectly groundless objection,” Mr. Hargreave 
declared. 

“Now, dear,” Lady Sara began, pushing her chair 
back, and letting her clasped hands drop in her lap, 
“ I did explain to you after I had that talk with Lor- 
rance, about the time of his poor father’s death, how 
important I felt it to be that we should not allow any 
engagement between him and Audley ” 

“ I couldn’t see the importance of it then, and I can’t 
now,” her husband interposed. 

“Perhaps not, dear,” Lady Sara returned, calmly; 
“ hut I was going to say, I thought it better that nothing 
should be done in a hurry ; that Audley should have 
plenty of opportunity to know her own mind.” 

“ I should think she ought to know her own mind by 
this time, if she is ever going to, when they’ve grown 
up together, as one may say.” 

“ The very fact that they have known each other all 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


33 


their lives is what makes the danger,” Lady Sara re- 
turned, very seriously. “ It so often happens that when 
a boy and girl have been companions from their child- 
hood, they fancy themselves in love when they are 
grown up ; the romance of the thing strikes them sud- 
denly, and they get engaged and marry, and, when it 
is too late, find the romance has dissolved, and that they 
were merely friends after all.” 

“ Not a bad thing, either, ” Mr. Hargreave declared ; 
“ if more husbands and wives were friends there would 
be more happy marriages, to my thinking. ” 

“The friendship takes care of itself if the love is 
there. I am not saying that Lor ranee and Audley 
ought not to marry because they have grown up to- 
gether — far from it ; but that there is the more need of 
caution lest they should make shipwreck of their hap- 
piness ; and what I desired was, that for the next few 
months — six, I named in my talk with Lorrance, and 
three are gone already — they should not meet often and 
when they did it should be as friends simply. You 
didn’t seem to think it hard and uni’easonable at the 
time.” 

“I didn’t expect such a change of base as this,” 
grumbled Mr. Hargreave. 

“No, nor did I; but I find such an arrangement is 
the merest farce,” returned Lady Sara. “Lorrance is 
always turning up at unexpected times and places, and 
Audley is kept in a continual state of restlessness ; and 
as to their meeting as friends, it is too ridiculous to ” 

“Quite too ridiculous,” Mr. Hargreave interrupted, 
sardonically. 

“ I certainly did not dream of your making my duty 
so much more painful and difficult,” Lady Sara said, 
in an aggrieved tone. “ It was hard enough to bring 
Lorrance to listen to reason, and to meet Audley’s tears 
3 


34 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN, 


and sighs. I do consider that I had a right to look for 
sympathy and support from my husband.” 

She pressed her hands over her eyes, and Mr. Har- 
greave looked at her in dismay. “ Confound it, Sara ! 
don’t cry, there’s a dear. I won’t meddle any more. 
I dare say you are right, only don’t keep the poor things 
waiting more than the six months ; that surely will be 
time enough for them to find out whether they’re in 
love or not. And don’t let me see any of Nixie’s tears, 
or I shall send for the parson, and have them married 
off hand, with a license. ” 

“ Foolish, fond father !” said his wife, smiling up at 
him. “ Oh, well, the mothers, I believe, have always 
to supply all the common-sense, while the fathers do all 
the spoiling, and petting, and are the idols to be wor- 
shipped. But now, dear,” she continued, warding off 
an energetic protest against her statement of the case, 
“have I made my motives plain for wishing to take 
Audley away, and will you trust me for the next two 
or three months ; at least, treat me as if you trusted 
me, if you really will not change your mind and come 
with us?” 

“ No, I won’t go with you — I draw the line at thati” 

“Very well, it is very bad and obstinate of you — but 
have I your free consent to our going?” 

“My ‘/ree’ consent, no; but I submit. I don’t like 
it, but you may go; I can say no fairer than that.” 

“We really ought to start within the hour,” Lady 
Sara said, with a pleasant laugh. “ I don’t feel at all 
sure that you will not have repented of your gracious 
consent by the time our trunks are packed.” 

Her husband shrugged his shoulders, and left the 
room without replying ; while she gathered up her let- 
ters, with a complacent light in her eyes, and gave her 
thoughts to the business of the day. 


CHAPTER YI. 


Elise — I have one thing to ask of you. 

Prince Henry— What is it? It is already granted. 

— Longfellow. 

T WON’T go in: if she looked sad I should want 
X to go back on my agreement with Sara,” Mr. 
Hargreave said to himself, as he went upstairs, hat and 
gloves in hand. He went to Nixie’s door and called, 
“Good-by, Nixie; mind, I shall expect to see you at 
dinner !” 

“ O papa ! come in ; I want so much to see you. ” And 
before he had time to turn the knob, the door was 
opened, his hand was seized by two small ones that 
drew him into the room, and the door was shut again. 
In another quarter of a minute he was seated in an easy 
chair, and his daughter was perched upon his knee. 

“ Don’t you expect a scolding for not getting up to 
breakfast? making believe you are ill! what a little 
humbug you look, to be sure.” 

“ I’m not making believe, papa. I have got a head- 
ache, though not a very bad one ; and mamma wanted 
to talk to you about our going away, and didn’t wish 
me to hear ; and besides that, I have something very 
particular to say to you myself. I have a question to 
ask, and I do so want you to do something for me.” 

“ Well, let me hear, though I am not at all sure that 
I shall either answer your question or do something for 
you.” 

“Tell me, papa,” Nixie said, paying no heed to her 
35 


S6 SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 

A 

father’s discouraging response; “am I to go away? 
have you said we might go abroad as mamma wishes?” 

“ Yes, I have said so,” her father replied, grudgingly; 
“ mamma thinks it ncessary . ” 

“And don’t you mean to go with us? Mamma said 
she didn’t think you would, but I couldn’t believe you 
would be so unkind. I shouldn’t have you or Norman 
either.” 

“No, I’m not going — that’s settled. I have had 
enough of it for one year, and I want a chance to enjoy 
Eden Wyck. If you and Lorrie would only have been 
sensible, if he had kept out of the way, and you hadn’t 
gone on making love to each other ” 

“We haven’t, papa! indeed we have not,” Nixie pro- 
tested. 

“Yes, you have, and mamma finds the only way to 
keep you in order, and for you to know your own mind, 
is to take you away where Lorrie can’t be turning up at 
all odd times and places, and set you thinking about 
him, when very likely you would forget him if you 
didn’t meet.” 

“O papa! Well, you know better than that; as if I 
shall not think of him just as much in Switzerland as 
I do in London, and more, because I shan’t have anj^- 
thing else to do, and shall be so sorry for him. And 
then the very idea of my not knowing whether I really 
care for him or not. I am sure I could never care for 
anybody else.” 

“ I hope you could not, dear child, as he really cares 
for you, I believe,” her father said, gravely. “I don’t 
want my little girl to break any hearts, least of all 
Lorrie Trevyllian’s.” 

“Never fear, papa! mamma will see at the end of 
the six months. Now, I must tell you what I want 
you to do for me; it is something that mamma would 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


37 


think very wrong, but it is not, the least in the 
world.” 

“Children shouldn’t set themselvs up as judges of 
what is right or wrong — their fathers and mothers know 
best,” Mr. Hargreave replied, his face hardly express- 
ing the reproof implied by his words. 

“Well, then you shall be the judge in this case,” 
Nixie said, settling herself more comfortably on his 
knee. “ If you think it right to do what I wish, it will 
give me the only little bit of comfort I shall have in 
leaving Lorrie so unhappy.” The little sob with which 
the last words were said prepared Mr. Hargreave for 
any villainy,” as he felt. “ Poor Lorrie has no phot- 
ograph of me,” Nixie said, dolefully, “and I thought 
I might ask you to give him one — after I have gone, 
papa — not a minute before ! He has asked me for one 
so many times — I cannot bear to refuse him so small 
a request.” 

“ You need not refuse, and I will make it right with 
mamma. But why isn’t he to have it until after you 
are gone?” 

“ Because — didn’t mamma tell you? — she doesn’t in- 
tend him to know that we are going; she thinks he 
would be so desperate if he knew, and that it will be 
kinder for him to find it out afterward.” 

Mr. Hargreave muttered some sharp word of disap- 
proval, and looked very disturbed, but made no other 
comment on his wife’s plan. 

“And, papa,” Nixie continued, after a moment’s si- 
lence, “ will you tell me about Sybil sometimes when 
you write? Mamma doesn’t intend us to correspond; 
and if you tell me that she is well and happy, may I 
understand that Lorrie is, too?” 

“ What a base conspirator it is !” her father said, but 
Nixie knew her request was granted. “ Where is there 


38 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


a photograph?” he asked. “Shall I find one in the 
album, downstairs?” 

“No.” Nixie took an envelope from her desk. 
“ There is the only picture — the one Lorrie likes best. 
And do please tell Lorrie that I wouldn’t have gone 
without saying good-by if I could have helped it.” 

At this point Nixie seemed on the verge of an out- 
burst of tears, but she choked them back, though she 
grew quite pale with the effort. 

Her father put the contraband envelope safely away 
in his pocketbook, his heart and face full of sympathy 
for the young lovers, so ruthlessly, as he felt, torn 
asunder. 

“Now I must be off,” he said, with an assumption 
of cheerfulness. “You must just make up your mind 
to get all the enjoyment you possibly can out of Switz- 
erland, or wherever mamma decides to take you, and I 
will look after Lorrie, and the time will be gone before 
you know it. You must be bright and cheerful for 
mamma’s sake,” he added, moved by a sudden feeling 
of remorse, though it was not the first little secret he 
and Nixie had had between them. He always proposed 
to “ihake it all right with mamma,” but somehow the 
necessity never seemed to press upon him, except at the 
moment the conspiracy was being hatched. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Henceforth 

My love will have a sense of pity in it, 

Making it less a vvorshiii than before. 

— Longfelloiv. 

I N another week Lady Sara and Nixie left England 
for the continent. 

They called to bid Sybil good-by, as, all things con- 
sidered, Lady Sara did not think it would do to send 
p.p.c. cards; but she left it until the last moment, de- 
voutly hoping they should not encounter Lorrance. 
Much to her annoyance, he met them at the door, as 
they were coming away, while she was thinking how 
fortunate it had been that he was not at home. How- 
ever, he could do no more than put them into the car- 
riage and nearly crush Nixie’s hand, as he bade her 
good-by; and Nixie could do no more than look back 
at Lorrie as they drove away, with two big tears in her 
eyes, saying to herself, “Poor Lorrie! how wretched 
he looks, and how wretched I feel !” 

“ Did you see them, dear?” Sybil asked, when Lorrie 
entered the drawing-room, and he threw himself into a 
chair, the picture of angry misery. 

“Oh, yes,” he replied, with a harsh laugh. “I said 
good-by to her at the carriage door, with that harpy 
looking on. She doesn’t intend me to see her again — 
she means that to be our good-by for months — perhaps 
she means it to be forever.” He started from his chair 

89 


40 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


to pace the room with angry strides. “Who knows 
what devilry is hidden behind that smiling mask? It 
is the most infernal plot that was ever invented out of 
Tophet,” he cried, “this taking her off to let her learn 
her own mind. What a fool I have been to let it come 
to this ; what an idiot not to have stolen the march on 
her mother, and married her days ago. Nothing was 
easier — a special license and a little help from you, and 
the thing was done. But, blind idiot that I was, I 
never dreamed of this. Nixie ought to have let me 
know,” he said sharply, pausing an instant, but he 
added, “ Of course, her mother has watched her like a 
dragon, and forbidden her to tell me for fear I should 
make a row.” He laughed again, but it was not a 
pleasant sound. “ I think I have been mad ever since 
I heard of it yesterday — incapable of thought, or I 
should have ” 

Suddenly he stood still, and Sybil watched him, feel- 
ing too sick at heart to move or speak; feeling that 
there was no comfort for him, nor for herself, and she 
could not pretend there was. When he turned, so that 
she could see his face, she was struck with its changed 
expression ; it had been full of gloom and resentment, 
now it glowed with excitement and hope. 

“Sybil,” he cried, coming quickly to her side, “it is- 
not too late. I have thought of a plan that will put 
everything right, if you will help us ; nothing could be 
simpler and easier, and you will — you must,” he added, 
in a tone and with a look that gave her a sudden fear 
lest she should have no power to resist anything he 
might propose, however desperate. It was a serious 
moment, and she summoned all her courage to meet it. 

“Help you to do what, dear?” she asked, meeting 
Lorrie’s glowing eyes as calmly as she could. 

“To do what?” he repeated, feeling the suggestion 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


41 


of resistance in her tone; “to prevent Nixie’s being 
carried off by force from me, who have every right to 
keep her; for she loves me, and we are as solemnly 
bound as if we were already married, and her own 
father would be glad if I circumvented his wife’s 
scheme for keeping us apart. You know very well 
that he doesn’t like their going abroad, and that he 
thinks it all nonsense — this infernal probation.” 

“But, dear Lorrie, he would not approve of your 
doing anything desperate to prevent it — anything that 
would make a scandal.” 

“ A scandal. What do you mean?” demanded Lorrie 
fiercely. “ There would be no scandal if you would do 
your part, and I ask you again, will you help me? 
Have 3"OU no pity for Nixie — if you have none for me? 
Do 3"ou think it a happy thing for her to he torn away 
like this? And what more likely than that Lady. Sara 
should have arranged for Lord Nether by to follow them? 
Good heavens, Sybil, can you hesitate?” 

Lorrie ’s manner had grown more and more excited 
as he went on, and Sybil trembled ; but she said qui- 
etly : “ What do you want me to do? you have not told 
me yet.” 

“ This is what I want you to do, and what you will 
do, if you love me : Order the carriage this afternoon — • 
there is only to-day — go to Lady Sara’s and ask for 
Nixie and persuade her to take a drive with you. Sybil, 
listen !” he cried, as Sybil involuntarily shook her head. 
“You must — you shall do it! Take a few needful 
things with yon in a hag; and when ^mu have Nixie 
safely with you in the carriage, drive to Charing Cross. 
I will find out about the trains, and I will meet you 
there, and you may leave the rest to me. I can make 
my peace with Nixie. You will go with us to Paris, 
where the marriage shall take place the next day, and 


42 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


we will all stay abroad until the storm has blown over. 
What more simple, and easy, and right? If her father 
sided with Lady Sara against us, it would be different. 
Sybil, you can have.no scruples,” he ended, as if he 
would force her to see it all as he did. 

She had kept her eyes turned from him ; she would 
not meet his, knowing too well what she should see in 
them, and he had given her no chance to speak, while 
he eagerly disclosed his plan. ]^ow she said, and he 
must have seen what the refusal cost her, “ Lorrie, 
darling, I cannot do it — you must not ask it.” 

“You will not; you refuse to help me?” demanded 
Lorrie. 

“ I would give my life for you — you know I would,” 
she said, in a pleading voice ; “ but I cannot help you to 
do wrong — I cannot! And I don’t think you could do 
what you propose,” she added earnestly ; “ the marriage 
laws of France are ” 

“What can you know about the marriage laws of 
France?” he demanded roughly. “It is only an ex- 
cuse. You know it is not wrong; and you know there 
are hideous possibilities for Nixie and me in her being 
taken away from us all like this, and yet you refuse — 
you will not risk possible blame and a little trouble to 
save us?” 

“ O Lorrie, have pity,” Sybil cried, clasping her hands 
in an agony of protest. “ I would do anything in the 
world that I thought was right, but I cannot ” 

“ You cannot do one thing I ask of you ; tlien I know 
what your love is worth.” He threw off the hands 
that would have detained him, and strode from the 
room. 

“ Lorrie, come back 1 oh, do come back !” cried Sybil, 
but he paid no heed ; and when the door was closed be- 
tween them, she sank upon the couch, feeling ill and 


&YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


43 


utterly desolate. She could not have followed him, 
even if she had thought it would do any good. 

No tears came to her relief, and she sat looking out 
at the dreary gray of the sunless sky, longing for the 
presence that she felt would ha.ve put all things right 
for them. She knew what her father would have 
thought of Lorrie’s mad plan ; but what would he advise, 
if he could speak to her from above the stars ; was there 
anything he would have her do to help her brother in this 
great strait? 

After a time her thoughts wandered back, farther 
and farther from the present, until, as if it had been 
yesterday, she recalled a conversation that passed be- 
tween her father and mother just before Lorrie went to 
Oxford. She remembered so well how busy they had 
been for days, marking handkerchiefs and socks, her 
mother having wished that everything should be done 
for Lorrie by her own or Sybil’s hand. On this after- 
noon that Sybil recalled, she had curled herself up in 
the deep window of the morning-room with her work, 
when her father entered, followed by her mother, who 
carried a dozen silk ties of various colors and as many 
pairs of kid gloves in different shades of tan and gray. 
It was in answer to her mother’s tearful bemoanings 
that her father had said: “He managed to survive 
school days at Winchester; I should think he might 
endure life at Oxford. It’s a thousand pities that he 
isn’t going to rough it at the Cape or in New Zealand, 
instead of going to Oxford, with all those monogrammed 
handkerchiefs and two-button kid gloves. If he doesn’t 
waste his time boating and playing racquets, and doing 
everything but work, I’m much mistaken.” 

“ He is going to get a double-first, papa ! he has 
promised me,” Sybil had declared. 

“ If he gets a second, or even tries for it, it will be 


44 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


more than I expect,” her father responded, with a 
twinkle in his eyes that Sybil remembered well ; it had 
taken the sting out of his words for her. “ My only 
comfort is that he isn’t likely to get spoiled there, as 
he does at home by mother, sister, aunts, cousins, and 
female friends — you have all vied with each other to 
see which could spoil him most.” 

“Well, dear, he has had plenty of snubbings from 
you,” retorted his wife, reproachfully. 

“ I don’t know what would have become of him if 
there hadn’t been somebody to do something besides 
flatter him,” her husband had replied. 

“We can’t help admiring him, papa, when he is as 
handsome as Apollo, and as clever as he is handsome.” 

“And as amiable and unselfish as he is handsome 
and clever,” added the mother. 

“ Hum ! it’s easy to be amiable and seem unselfish 
when heaven and earth combine to make things pleasant 
for you; but I can’t say that I qujte agree with you as 
to his angelic temper. What about the old rows in the 
nursery and the schoolroom; wasn’t peace generally 
got by the young rogue’s getting his own way?” 

“ He was so little, then, papa,” Sybil had urged. 

“Not so little as you were,” her father returned. 
“You just wait until jsomething goes wrong — until he 
wants something and finds he can’t get it ; until he is 
disappointed in love, we’ll say, and then see.” 

“ He never can be that !” Sybil had exclaimed ; “ as 
if any girl could possibly help falling in love with him 
if he loved her! I should almost think that a girl 
might love him without his loving her. I know if I 
weren’t his sister or cousin I should keep out of his 
way for fear.” 

“ Tliis is not a disappointment in love,” Sybil thought 
thankfully, as she came back from her retrospect. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


45 


“ Nixie loves him as truly as he loves her, and will be 
faithful to the end, I know. But this separation is ter- • 
rible, and I don’t wonder he is desperate. It was hard 
enough that they couldn’t be engaged, after Lorrie had 
spoken to her of .his love and we all knew she loved 
him; and that they weren’t allowed to meet, as they 
always had, without this miserable probation. Per- 
haps it will seem less dreadful when she has been away 
for a few daj^s, and he finds that time does not stand 
still, though she is absent. Oh, if it had only been 
something that I might have done — it was cruel to have 
to refuse.” 

In all Sybil’s keen distress over Lorrie ’s trouble there 
was hope. Mr. Hargreave was their faithful ally, and 
the weeks of Nixie’s absence would come to an end, then 
all would be well. But that terrible heaviness of heart 
that kept her sitting there, so pale and still — was there 
any help for that? 


CHAPTER VIII. 


I know his nature. 

So deep impressed with what he has suffered 
That the least adding to adds to his ruin. 

— Beaumont and Fletcher. 

S YBIL had not moved when half an hour later tea 
was brought in, and she learned from Kifton 
that Lorrie had gone out, leaving word that he should 
probably dine with his aunt, and she was not to wait 
for him. 

Mrs. Norcliffe had no children of her own, and lav- 
ished all the tenderness she could spare from her hus- 
band on Lorrie and Sybil. Lorrie was her god-child, 
and her pride in his beauty and cleverness knevz no 
bounds; and her claims on his devotion would have 
given Sybil good excuse for jealousy if she had been 
capable of that sentiment. 

“You look quite ill. Miss,” Caroline said, when she 
saw Sybil’s white face late in the evening. “ You ought 
to bo in bed, indeed you ought.” 

“My head does ache a little, but I didn’t like going 
to bed before Mr. Lorrie came in,” Sybil answered. 

“Mr. Lorrie came in some time ago,” Caroline said 
cheerfully, but with indignation in her heart. “ Indeed 
I thought he was with you. Shall I run up and tell 
him you are waiting so see him? I suppose he is in 
his room.” 

“Ho, we needn’t disturb him,” Sybil replied faintly. 
“ I shall see him in the morning. ” 

46 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


47 


It was the very first time in their lives that Lorrie 
and Sybil had slept after a disagreement of any kind, 
without “ making it up,” and feeling that they were bet- 
ter friends than ever ; and the fact that Sybil had always 
been the one to make overtures of peace, and persevere 
until the clouds were gone, made it all the harder for 
her to pass her brother’s door and shut herself in her 
own room, putting a night between their painful part- 
ing and their next meeting. That it was a relief to 
defer that next meeting was saddest of all. 

When Caroline had left her reluctantly, and greatly 
troubled at the signs of weariness and depression in her 
young mistress, she was almost impelled by her terrible 
sense of loneliness to go to her brother’s door and beg 
for admittance; but she shrank from reopening the 
painful subject, and felt that she could not possibly 
bear a repulse. So she sat on watching the moon as it 
sailed through vapory clouds, her eyes often blinded by 
the hot tears that she was hardly conscious of as they 
fell, until after the clock had struck one. Then she 
went to her desk and wrote a little note which she 
pushed softly under her brother’s door when she saw his 
light was out. She went to bed then and, utterly 
wearied in body and mind with the day’s experiences, 
was soon asleep, while Lorrie was still tossing in rest- 
less wakefulness, nursing bitter thoughts of Sybil’s re- 
fusal to help him, prophesying evil to come, all stirred 
to fiercer flame by an almost frenzied resentment toward 
Lady Sara. 

One would have thought that Sybil’s note, which 
he read before dressing in the morning, might have 
softened even a heart of stone ; and his was not a heart 
of stone, it was only a self-absorbed one, not more 
selfish than many an one that, not being especially tried, 
might pass muster as unselfish. But there were no 


48 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAK 


signs of relenting when he appeared at breakfast ; the 
note had clearly failed of its purpose yet. 

Sybil’s heart ached for him, he looked so haggard 
and unhappy ; and when, having finished his coffee — 
he had eaten nothing — he rose to leave the room, she 
left her chair and stood before him. “ Lorrie, forgive 
me, and make friends,” she said, in quivering tones. 
She put her arms about his neck, and looked pleadingly 
into his face with tearful eyes. 

He said nothing, but he kissed her, and his eyes soft- 
ened a little so that, although he hurried away and she 
saw him no more until dinner, her heart was less heavy, 
and she could faintly hope for brighter days. 

Yet how long that day was to her, and how long and 
heavy the weeks that followed, when she seemed to 
have nothing to do but grieve over other people’s troub- 
les, without being able to share or relieve them. 

Lorrie’s manner was not otherwise than kind as the 
days went on, but he was silent and moody, and spent 
a great deal of time with his aunt. 

“ I am glad to have the dear boy come to me with 
his woes,” Mrs. Norcliffe said one day, when she was 
having five o’clock tea with Sybil ; “ you have not the 
spirits, just now, to cheer him up and make him look 
on the bright side of things.” 

“ If you can make him see a bright side I am very 
thankful,” Sybil answered, rather mournfully. 

“ He is certainly terribly mopey. I feel very much 
inclined to shake him sometimes,” Mrs. Norcliffe re- 
turned; she added, with a sympathetic sigh, “but it 
isn’t to be^wondered at, poor dear. When Hixie is at 
home again, and this ‘monstrous probation of her 
mother’s hatching, ’ as he says, is ended, he will be his 
own bright self once more. I am bitterly disappointed 
at being so late in leaving London, it seems so particu- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


49 


larly exasperating when ‘The Rookery’ is ready and 
waiting for us, and I have been so eager to get you 
and Lorrie there. I’m sure we could manage some 
nice little diversions that would help to pass the time ; 
but you see, dear, how it is. Uncle John is so driven 
just now, and I can’t bear to leave him.” 

“Of course not, auntie, you couldn’t go without 
him,” Sybil responded. 

“If the Hargreaves were all at Eden Wyck, I am 
afraid my romance would get the better of my wifely 
devotion, but as it is ” 

The door was thrown open at that moment, and Mr. 
Hargreave was announced. 

“ What a pleasant chance !” Mrs. Norcliffe exclaimed, 
as she and Mr. Hargreave shook hands cordially. “ It 
is ages since we met, is it not?” 

Sybil’s face brightened at the sight of her old friend. 
His visits and his affectionate sympathy were the pleas- 
antest things in her life at present. She listened while 
her aunt discoursed with him on the charms of the 
country round about Eden Wyck, which had for her 
now such a personal interest ; and at length she found 
an opportunity to ask if he had heard from Nixie since 
she saw him last. 

“Ah, yes, what news of your truants?” Mrs. Nor- 
cliffe added. 

“ They are all very well, thanks. I had a letter from 
Nixie this evening. I meant to have brought it for 
you, Sybil, though there wasn’t much in it. I shall 
tell her I won’t put up with such mere apologies for 
letters ; this is the second one I have had no longer than 
my finger. They are still at Miirren.” 

“Nice place,” Mrs. Norcliffe remarked. 

“It is too much like an English watering-place to 
please me,” Mr. Hargreave returned. “I expect, 
4 


50 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


though, that wherever Nixie might be just now, she 
would be counting the days until she gets back to Eng- 
land. I’ve been counting them up myself, and am 
thankful there are so few of them left.” 

“ There will be great rejoicings when they do come,” 
Mrs. Norcliffe said; “we ought to have an illumina- 
tion and the ringing of bells. But where is your son ; 
when does he return from his wanderings?” 

“ In good time for the wedding festivities, ” said he. 

Norman Hargreave had gone abroad just before Lady 
Sara broached the subject of taking Nixie away. It is 
even doubtful whether the plan would have been aired 
at all, if he had stayed at home; for, as Lorrie had 
suggested to Sybil, Lady Sara did stand in some awe 
of her son’s clear eyes, and he had, from the first, 
pooh-poohed the idea of any further delay in the mat- 
ter of an engagement between Lorrie and his sister. 

“ I haven’t seen Lorrie since I came back,” Mr. Har- 
greave said, as he took leave of Sybil, later on. 

“We thought you were still at Eden Wyck,” Sybil 
replied, “or I am sure you would have seen him.” 

“ Let me see, I must run down to Eden to-morrow, 
but I shall be back Thursday. Yes, tell Lorrie to come 
and have bachelor’s dinner with me at Portman Square 
on Thursday, unless he hears from me to the contrary, 
seven o’clock sharp. If anything keeps me. I’ll drop 
him a line.” 

Lorrie had an engagement with Mrs. Norcliffe on 
Thursday afternoon, and was to go from her to Mr. 
Hargreave’s, as he had heard nothing to the contrary, 
so that Sybil was much disturbed, when, about six 
o’clock she came in from the garden with Mrs. Philip 
Leigh, an aunt by marriage who was spending a few 
days with them, to find a note from Mr. Hargreave lying 
on the hall table. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


51 


“He has been detained at the last moment,” she 
said, “ but Lorrie will understand, and as they were to 
dine at seven, he will have plenty of time to get back 
to Uncle John’s for dinner at eight.” 

Lorrie came in just as Sybil and Mrs. Leigh were 
leaving the dining-room, and thrusting the note into 
his pocket unread, he hurried toward the stairs, disre- 
garding his aunt’s pleasant greeting. Seeing that 
something was amiss, Mrs. Leigh proceeded to the 
drawing-room, while Sybil followed Lorrie. 

“You haven’t had dinner, have you, dear?” she said. 
“ I saw Mr. Hargreave’s note, and concluded he had 
been detained at the last moment, but I thought you 
would have gone back to dineat Uncle John’s. Lorrie, 
what is it?” she asked, in dismay, as she caught a 
glimpse of her brother’s face. He had stopped on the 
stairs, and turned sharply toward her. 

“ Mr. Hargreave has gone abroad, started this morn- 
ing,” he said, in a hard voice. 

“ Eeally !” exclaimed Sybil, much startled. “ Did the 
servants know what had called him away so suddenly? 
was there any message for you?” 

“They knew that nobody was ill,” Lorrie answered, 
shortly. 

“ Oh, but dear, you have his note ; that will explain 
everything,” said Sybil, eagerly. “Let me come with 
you,” she pleaded, clinging to his hand, as he would 
have left her ; and they went together to his room. 

“Read it, if you like,” Lorrie said, tossing the 
crumpled note on the table; and Sybil opened it and 
read : 


PoRTMAN Square, 

8:30 a.m., Thursday. 

My Dear Lorrie . You and Sybil will be surprised to know, 
when you get this, that I am on my way to Switzerland. A 


52 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


letter I got from my wife this morning makes it seem advis- 
able for me to start at once, but you mustn’t conjure up any 
bugbears. Lady Sara and Nixie are both quite well, and I shall 
bring them back to England post haste, you may depend. It is 
time I was off. Love to you both and good luck to us all. 

Yours affectionately, 

Egbert Hargreave. 

P. S. — I shall write from my journey’s end, unless we are com- 
ing home so soon that it doesn't seem worth while. 

“I am sure, dear, there is nothing to worry about,” 
Sybil said, having read the note aloud; but she saw 
that Lorrie did not share her feeling of relief. 

“ Nothing to worry about !” he repeated bitterly ; “ if 
you can’t read between the lines, I can. Nixie is well, 
and her mother is well ; and yet Mr. Hargreave hurries 
off, at an hour’s notice — says it ‘seems advisable to 
start at once.’ You don’t need to read between the 
lines — it’s as plain as the sun in heaven that he has 
gone to put a stop to some fiendish machinations of 
Lady Sara’s, most likely to her marrying Nixie to 
Lord Nether by while she has her safely in her power.” 
His voice sounded harsh and discordant, and he rang 
the bell violently. “ If she were standing at the altar 
with that man I would claim her and carry her off, if 
it were over his dead body,” he declared, in such tragic 
tones that it might have made one smile who was less 
in sympathy with him than Sybil. 

Kifton came to answer the bell. “ Tell Caroline to 
pack my portmanteau with what I shall want for a 
week,” he said. 

“Lorrie, listen to* me,” Sybil begged, when Kifton 
had gone. “You don’t know where they are, dear; 
the letter says, ‘Switzerland,’ but you only know they 
were at Miirren — you can’t be certain they are there 
now. I think,” she added, trembling with apprehen- 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


5S 

sion as to what Lorrie might do in his despair, “ that 
Mr. Hargreave purposely avoided saying definitely 
where they are, because he thought you might be 
tempted to follow him ; and he says he shall bring them 
back soon,” she urged. 

“He says he shall, I know,” returned Lorrie, with 
scornful accent. Caroline came with the portmanteau. 
“Let it alone, don’t bother,” he said, impatiently; 
and as Caroline looked at him in surprise, he added, 
“ I’ve changed my mind. I shan’t want it. I suppose 
you are right,” he said to Sybil, when Caroline had 
departed. “ You are always on the side of wisdom and 
caution. Perhaps you will tell me what I am to do,” 
he went on, as Sybil made no response to his bitter 
words, “ you seem to understand it all so well. It is 
only fair you should give me the benefit of your wis- 
dom, as you refused the help that might have prevented 
this extremity.” 

S3*bil was indignant, as well as hurt, his harshness 
was so undeserved; and, after a pause, she replied 
quietly ; “ I think there is nothing you can do but wait 
until you hear from Mr. Hargreave again. I am sure 
he would not keep you in suspense an hour longer than 
he can help, he will know you must be so terribly anx- 
ious. Of course he had no time to explain anything 
this morning ; and you know there is the chance that 
they may be at home almost as soon as you would get 
a letter. Take courage, dear,” she said, as a great 
wave of tenderest sympathy swept across her. “ Why 
should you fear?” 

Lorrance sat down, burying his face in his hands. 
Sybil stood by with an aching sense of the futility of 
words, and at length she laid her hand gently on his 
shoulder. “Will you go to bed early, darling, and try 
to sleep and forget your troubles? They will seem less 


54 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


dreadful in the morning, and it will be so much nearer 
the clearing up of the mystery. Do promise me you 
will.’’ 

“ I shall go to bed some time — don’t bother about me 
any more.” 

Sybil kissed his forehead — she could not leave him 
without that token of her loving sympath}" — and went 
away with a heavy heart. She sent Caroline to him 
with some supper, for she was sure he had had no din- 
ner, and went to bed early herself, hoping to forget all 
their distresses in sleep. But she counted the hours 
until daylight came, and she feared Lorrie was doing 
the same. 

Lorrie did not appear at breakfast the next morning, 
and Sybil learned from Caroline that he had rung for 
his letters, as soon as the postman’s knock was heard, 
and that two had been taken up to him. She went to 
his door and knocked. A faint answer came, and she 
went in. Lorrie was in bed, with his hands clasped 
above his head. He neither spoke nor moved, as she 
stood beside him. 

On the floor lay two letters, crushed and torn ; and as 
Sybil picked them up and laid them on the table, she 
saw that one was in Nixie’s and the other in Lady 
Sara’s handwriting. Her heart was sick at the thought 
of what they might have brought to Lorrie. She laid 
her hand on his forehead and it seemed to scorch her, 
it was so burning hot. When he opened his eyes, a 
thrill of dread shot through her. 

“Where are they — those cursed letters?” he de- 
manded, raising his head with difficulty to look on the 
floor. 

“I picked them up, darling. They are on the 
table.” 

“Read them.” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


55 


Sybil read, and her worst fears were realized. If 
she had followed her impulse, she would have thrown 
herself down beside Lorrie, and sobbed out her despair- 
ing pity. 

For Nixie’s letter, full of remorse and gentle as it 
was, said plainly that she had mistaken the love of a 
playmate and sister for the love Lorrie had wished for ; 
and she had found, too late, that sorqe one else had her 
heart. She could only beg of him to forgive her, and, 
above all, to forget her. 

Lady Sara said that the event had proved the wisdom 
of her plan of taking Audley away for a time. She 
had seen from the first, she said — though it was not 
strictly true — the nature of her feeling for Lorrance, 
and had been resolved, however cruel she herself might 
seem, that Audley should have at least a chance to find 
out the truth for herself. She only hoped that Lorrie 
would look upon it as a providential escape for them 
‘both from a life-time of miserj^, which, she said, was 
the only reasonable view. 

It was plain enough to Sybil, now, why Mr. Har- 
greave had hurried away at a moment’s notice. But 
suppose he did refuse his consent to Nixie’s marrying 
some one else — what then? It would not bring peace to 
poor Lorrie’s heart, nor heal the terrible blow Nixie’s 
unfaithfulness had dealt. 

These thoughts rushed through Sybil’s mind while 
she stood with her eyes fixed on the letters. She dreaded 
to raise them to meet Lorrie’s. 

Suddenly he shivered, and drew his arms under the 
blankets. “ I am so dreadfully cold — do put something 
more over me.” 

Sybil rang the bell, which was instantly answered 
by Caroline. “Bring a nice hot cup of tea, please, 
Caroline,” she managed to say, with tolerable compos- 


56 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ure, while she brought Lorrie’s travelling rug and an 
eider-down quilt. 

Caroline only paused to feel Lorrie’s pulse. “ Send 
for Dr. Thornton,” he said, in a faint but imperative 
voice, and Caroline departed to despatch Kifton for the 
doctor, and to fetch the tea, full of anxious forebodings. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Oh, sweet father, tender and true, 
Deny me not, she said. 


— Tennyson. 


L ady Sara’s letter to her husband had given him 
full particulars as to Nixie’s “awakening,” and 
her engagement to Lord Netherby. Of course, she 
said, it was only an understanding, at present, but 
wanted but her father’s sanction to make it as perfect as 
anything can be in this far-from-perfect world. She 
had, she said, thought it best to say nothing about it 
until she could speak quite definitely — ^she had, in fact, 
refrained from mentioning Lord Netherby ’s being of 
their party at Murren, and she hoped, when they came 
home, as they should soon do, her husband would be 
prepared to accept the inevitable with philosophy, if 
not with entire satisfaction, etc., etc. 

It was evident, as Mr. Hargreave said to himself, 
when he re-read his wife’s letter on the boat crossing 
to Calais, that it had not entered her head to imagine 
that he would not wait meekly for their return, and 
prepare his mind for the inevitable. “ Inevitable fiddle- 
sticks !” was his comment. 

His journey was not a cheerful one. He travelled 
day and night, but the trains seemed to creep and the 
hours seemed days. He felt indignant and outraged, 
first, with Lord Netherby, whom he denounced in un- 
compromising terms ; secondly, with his wife, by whom 

57 


58 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


he considered that he had been fooled and overreached, 
whose conduct, he declared, he would never forgive; 
and lastly, with Nixie. He never doubted that she 
had been unduly influenced by her mother, and perse- 
cuted with love-making by Lord Netherhy. But no 
girl, least of all his child, had a right to play fast and 
loose with a man’s heart, and that man Lorrie Trevyl- 
lian, “ the son of my oldest and dearest friend, and that 
friend dead and gone,” he thought sadly. “She is 
Audley, after all, a ‘girl of the period,’ and not my 
simple-hearted N ixie. ” 

Audley ’s name had always been a sore point to Mr. 
Hargreave. Norman had been named for Lady Sara’s 
father, the Earl of Medmenham; and two sons, who 
had followed Norman, and died in childhood, had been 
named for other members of her family. When Aud- 
ley came, Mr. Hargreave had wished her to be called 
Isabel, after his own mother ; but Lady Sara had calmly 
carried the day, “as usual,” as her husband had de- 
clared. It was Norman who gave her the pet name of 
Nixie, because she could swim like a mermaid when a 
very little girl, and when a few years older, could row 
with the best. Her father, and most of her friends, 
had adopted the pet name ; but her mother always had 
called her Audley. 

“ I won’t have it — it shan’t go on !” Mr. Hargreave 
announced audibly, starting up from his corner as the 
train neared Como, causing his fellow-passengers to 
wonder if the hitherto quiet, particularly sane-looking 
gentleman were, after all, an escaped lunatic. He 
quickly settled back, feeling very foolish for a moment ; 
but was soon again absorbed in his declarations of war 
against the new alliance. “ If she won’t marry Lorrie 
she shan’t marry anybody,” was his ultimatum. 

When he was on his way from the train to the hotel 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


59 


it occurred to him that he had not telegraphed from 
Paris as he had intended doing, to prepare his wife for 
his coming. “Never mind,” he thought, “she has 
given me a surprise and a shock that more than makes 
up for all I ever have, or ever can, give her.” 

It was rather a relief to find that his wife and daugh- 
ter were on the lake with Lord Nether by and other 
friends, and would not be back for a couple of hours. 
He was shown to their rooms by the landlord himself, 
to whom he was well known through former visits. 

Monsieur would dine with the ladies and milord at 
seven o’clock? “Yes, of course.” Would he have 
anything at present? “Yes, some wine and biscuits 
and a bath.” 

So now, within a couple of hours, he was to meet his 
would-be son-in-law. “ Shall I kick him, and tell him 
what I think of his conduct? I am pretty sure to do 
the latter ; as to the first — it would give me immense 
satisfaction.” A whimsical smile broke over his face, 
as a picture of the well-made figure and manly features 
and winning manners came before him. “But you 
can’t have Nixie,” he declared to the mental picture, 
“ she’s bespoke.” 

When he had had his bath he betook himself to his 
wife’s bed-room, leaving the door open into the sitting- 
room, that he might hear when she returned; and 
throwing himself on the bed, was soon fast asleep. 

It happened that when the party came back from their 
sail there was no one at hand to tell them of Mr. Har- 
greave’s arrival; and Lady Sara and Nixie went to 
their rooms in happy ignorance of that event. Lady 
Sara prided herself, as well she might, on not being 
easily perturbed. But she would certainly have much 
preferred to know the day and hour of her husband’s 
proposed appearance on the scene, if, indeed, he felt 


60 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


called upon to appear at all, instead of waiting peace- 
fully at home and sending his sanction by post. That 
he would give that sanction graciously, she never for a 
moment expected ; and the reason why she had written 
what it would have seemed easier to tell by word of 
mouth, was in order that his anger might spend itself 
in letters, and there might be comparative calm when 
they met. She proposed to give him ten clear days to 
recover in, although she had not mentioned that gener- 
ous allowance of time, even to Nixie. In this case, 
however, it was la femme propose^ mats Vhomme dis- 
pose. “Dress as quickly as you can, dear,” she said, 
as Nixie went on to her own room; “it is half -past six, 
and dinner is at seven.” 

“Yes, mamma,” Nixie replied. 

Lady Sara was proceeding to take off her gloves, 
when she became aware of things new and strange in 
the aspect of her room. A lunch- tray stood on the 
centre-table; a crumpled two-days-old copy of the 
Times., and a pair of well-worn dog-skin gloves lay on 
the floor ; the door into the bed-room was set wide open, 
with a chair against it on which was flung something 
suspiciously like a discarded shirt, while a collar and a 
pair of socks kept it company close by, and a portman- 
teau stood open not far off, its contents in a state of 
wild confusion. 

She stood silently contemplating these innovations 
on the immaculate order in which she had left things, 
and a not altogether amused or pleased smile curled her 
lips and shone in her eyes. As she stood holding a 
bonnet-string in each hand, the sound of regular, heavy 
breathing came forth from the bed -room, and she went 
cautiously to the door and looked in. Of course she 
was not surprised, after the various monitions that had 
already met her notice, to see her husband stretched 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


61 


upon the bed, fast asleep. With the smile still on her 
lips, she withdrew, after a moment’s consideration of 
the quiet face and rumpled hair. The smile faded as 
she stood meditating, with contracted brows and a fore- 
finger on her lips. “ That is the thing to be done,” she 
said, at length, going to Nixie’s door, which opened 
from the sitting-room on the opposite side from her 
own bed- room. 

Nixie had taken off her walking-dress, hut stood 
singing softly while she arranged a bunch of wild 
flowers, with a happy light in her eyes. She looked up 
when her mother entered, surprised at seeing her still 
in her bonnet and mantle, and blushed as she met her 
disapproving frown. 

“ Audley, dear, I hoped you would have been further 
advanced in your dressing, for papa has come. ” 

“Mamma!” cried Audley, dropping her flowers in 
her amazement. “You can’t mean it!” There was 
almost a touch of terror in her voice. 

“You foolish child, go on with your dressing. I 
want you to be as quick as possible. Why should you 
be so surprised? We know it is just like papa, to start 
off the moment he got my letter — like his dear, kind 
self.” 

“Yes, mamma, but you didn’t expect ” Nixie be- 

gan, half crying, and very much dismayed. 

“ Never mind, dear child, what I expected. I only 
want you to show that you appreciate his kindness by 
being your sweetest self. As soon as you are dressed 
— you will wear that cream-colored muslin with the 
full bodice and sleeves — you must go in and waken him 
with a kiss.” 

“Is he asleep?” asked Nixie, still flushed and trem- 
bling. 

“Yes, and I took care not to disturb him yet, for he 


62 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


must have travelled night and day to get to us — dear 
papa! Doesn’t he like your hair brushed back from 
your forehead, and braided loosely, and turned under 
with a ribbon?” 

“Yes, but I don’t think Jack does; he says it makes 
me look like a little girl.” 

“ You may wear it as Jack likes it best all your life, 
except just now ; for the present papa is the one to be 
considered. You see, dear Audley, he has reason to be 
displeased with us — with me, especially, for I could 
have insisted upon your keeping faith, as he would 
say, with Lorrance Trevyllian ; of course, he will say 
that that is what I ought to have done. But your hap*^ 
piness was of more importance to me than anybody’s 
else, and I preferred to brave papa’s anger rather than 
force you into an unwilling marriage. What I wish 
now is that you should make your own peace and con- 
vince him that you have followed the dictates of your 
own heart, and not been led by me. *’ 

“ I know he has a right to be very angry with me,” 
IN'ixie said, dolefully. “ I am very angry with myself,” 
she added, with sudden vehemence. “ I don’t deserve 
to be happy. I have treated Lorrie cruelly, and I am 
dreadfully ashamed to meet papa.” She covered her 
face with her hands, resting her elbows on the dressing- 
table. 

“ Shall I go and tell him that you have changed your 
mind again and will marry Lorrance after all?” asked 
Lady Sara, amused at what she regarded as a burst of 
childish petulance, little guessing what sorrowful tears 
had more than once wet Nixie’s pillow at thought of 
Lorrie’s unhappiness. 

“Mamma!” she cried in startled tones, lifting her 
face quickly from her hands. “How you frightened 
me,” she said, as she met her mother’s smile. “But I 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


63 


am wicked,” she sighed, picking up the flowers she had 
dropped. “ I never shall be perfectly happy until Lor- 
rie loves somebody else who will love him as he thought 
I did, and will make him as happy as — I am.” 

“Yes, dear, you certainly ought to have known your 
own heart sooner than you did,” her mother said. 
“Now, lam going to tell them to put off dinner for 
half an hour, and to tell Lord Netherby that papa has 
come; and when you are dressed you must go to him, 
and all will be well, I hope.” 

“I do dread it,” sighed Nixie, as, a little later, she 
went slowly toward her father’s door. 

Mr. Hargreave had just opened his eyes, and was 
looking about him in rather a bewildered state of mind, 
when he saw a little figure in white standing at the 
foot of the bed. “Nixie, is that you?” he asked in a 
drowsy voice. 

“Dear papa!” cried Nixie, throwing herself into the 
arms that were held out to her the moment she spoke, 
notwithstanding that at the same moment he. realized 
where he was and why he was there. “ I couldn’t help 
it— indeed I could not.” 

“Couldn’t help it, child? What do you mean?” her 
father asked with a frown. “ Do you mean to say that 
5^011 were made to do it? that you had no choice?” 

“Oh, no! not that,” said Nixie, eagerly; “it is my 
choice. I mean — I couldn’t help ” she paused. 

“Help what. Nixie? Speak out, child, and let me 
know the worst, and see what can be done.” 

Nixie steadied her voice, and replied, “ I couldn’t help 
loving Jack better than Lorrie.” 

“Jack! who is Jack, pray?” 

“Why — Lord Netherby, papa,” Nixie answered, 
shyly. 

“What business had you to call him ‘Jack’ before I 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


had given my consent? before it had even been asked? 
And what business had he to speak to you before he 
had spoken to me? You have all behaved disgrace- 
fully.” Mr. Hargreave tried to withdraw from Nixie’s 
embrace, but she clung to him. 

“I know it is dreadful,” she sobbed, “but I really 
thought I cared for Lorrie as he cared for me, until 
lately, and then I found that it was Lord Netherby I 
had cared for all the time.” 

“ Rubbish !” ejaculated Mr. Hargreave, “ the idea of 
a girl thinking she loves one man, when all the time 
she is in love with another. It’s my belief that if you 
had stayed at home, and Lord Netherby had gone away, 
you would never have given him another thought. ” 

Nixie’s sobs suddenly ceased, and she lifted her head 
quickly, her cheeks crimson. “ You are quite mistaken, 
papa,” she said earnestly, with a touch of resentment 
in her tone. “ I should have known all the sooner.” 

“Well — that’s neither here nor there,” her father 
said; “we needn’t discuss what might have been, if 
something else had been that wasn’t. The mischief is 
done, and I suppose can’t be undone. Poor Lorrie, and 
Sybil too, must suffer because of your not being able 
to find out sooner who it was that you were in love 
with.” 

“ I know it,” Nixie answered, sorrowfully. “ If there 
was anything I could do ” 

“You could give up this new fancy and marry Lor- 
rie,” her father said, with a quizzical smile in his eyes 
that Nixie did not see. 

“No! I could not do that!” she answered, clasping 
her hands together, while her voice had a note and her 
eyes a look that carried instant conviction to her father’s 
heart. “You will not ask me to do that — I know you 
couldn’t,” she added, as a (piick glance into her father’s 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


65 


face reassured her. “ But I cannot be happy until you 
have forgiven us both — Jack and me,” she pleaded. 

“ I can’t forgive Lord Netherby for supplanting Lor- 
rie — for making love to you when he knew ” 

“ He didn’t know,” cried Nixie. He never dreamed 
that Lorrie cared about me — in that way — until I told 
him just how foolish and wicked I had been. It was 
terrible to be obliged to tell him,” she added with a 
shiver, “but I couldn’t be satisfied until I had.” 

“I am very glad you couldn’t,” her father said 
gravely, but with a sensation of real pleasure — the first 
he had felt in the matter ; and he added in a softer tone 
than he had used before, “ I have nothing against Lord 
Netherby. I don’t suppose I should have made any 
objection to him if you could have managed to spare 
poor Lorrie; that I think you ought to have done.” 

“ I wish — I do wish I had,” sighed Nixie. She added 
falteringly after a pause, “ Lorrie says he has always 
loved me, so that the harm was done before — last 
spring.” 

“ The harm was done when you led him to think you 
cared for him more than as an old friend and play- 
mate,” her father returned. “Having done that, I am 
not at all sure ” 

“ Lorrie is so young, papa,” Nixie interposed hastily, 
fearful as to what he might be going to suggest. 
“ Don’t you think he will suffer less, and get over it 
sooner, than if he were a few years older?” 

“ Don’t try to comfort yourself by any such unworthy 
sophistries,” cried Mr. Hargreave, not the less sternly 
because he recognized some of his wife’s worldly wis- 
dom in Nixie’s suggestion. “ I don’t know what right 
you have to suppose that a man is less capable of suffer- 
ing at Lorrie’s age than at thirty or fifty. I am 
ashamed of you for trying to soothe your conscience 


66 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAYJ. 


with such arguments.” He walked away from her 
with his hands behind him, but soon came back, when 
he heard a sob, though he was too irritated to give her 
any comfort yet. “ I suppose mamma has told you 
some nonsense about men’s being boys until they are 
thirty,” he said, standing before her as she sat oppressed 
and tearful. 

“ She does say that a man’s choice would hardly ever 
be the same at twenty-three and thirty,” Nixie replied, 
reluctantly. 

“And what about women?” demanded her father, 
sharply; “when does their ability to choose and to 
suffer come to maturity? Between nineteen and a half 
and twenty, I suppose.” 

Nixie looked up at her father, wondering if it could 
really be his voice that was speaking to her in that 
hard, sarcastic tone. But she blamed herself too truly 
to resent any severity, and she answered, with gentle 
seriousness : “ I think a woman knows her true prince 
when he comes, whether she is nineteen and a half or 
thirty. She may make mistakes,” she added, with a 
sudden blush of self-consciousness, “ if she isn’t very 
wise; but she cannot be mistaken long, and she can 
never change when once she knows; and no matter 
how young she is, she will suffer if she loses him. O 
papa,” she said suddenly, clasping her father’s arm 
and hiding her face against it, “ if you knew half how 
much I love Lord Netherby, you would forgive the rest. 
If giving him up would make Lorrie happy, and I 
could be the only one to suffer, it would be different ; 
but I think — I am sure — Jack would suffer, too.” She 
lifted pleading eyes to her father. 

“I shouldn’t trouble about him,” her father declared. 
Then looking down into the flushed, tearful face, and 
pushing back the hair from her forehead, he added, his 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


67 


vexation gone and only tenderness left : “ I do want my 
one little daughter to be happy — I must have her happy 
— and so I suppose I must forgive her and her Jack, and 
let them be engaged — with my blessing,” he ended, his 
voice breaking a little, as he folded her in his arms. 

“ Thank you ! oh, thank you, dearest, kindest father,” 
cried Nixie. “ I don’t deserve it, I know, hut I am 
happy now.” 

“I must be forgiven, too, dear Robert,” Lady Sara 
said, coming on the scene at that moment. It was 
past the half-hour, and she was ashamed to keep Lord 
Netherby waiting any longer for his dinner. “Kiss 
me and let us be friends,” she said, in her most persua- 
sive tones, coming to her husband’s side as he made no 
movement to go to her, but stood with his hands in his 
pockets, eying her with a disapproving shake of the 
head, half serious, half humorous. He embraced her, 
but it must be admitted without very much warmth, 
not finding it in his heart to forgive her part in the 
matter yet. “I’ve made it up with Nixie,” he said — 
“ there’s no help for it ; but you must understannd that 
I don’t approve of your plottings and schemings, though 
I submit to the result.” He knew that so long as she 
had her own way, she would not break her heart over 
his reproaches; so that he need not hesitate to give 
himself the relief of expressing his mind. 

Nixie threw her arms with a loving, grateful impulse 
about her mother. “ It’s all right, dear mamma. We 
may be happy now,” she said. 

Lady Sara returned her embrace, while she answered 
her husband pleasantly. “ If plotting and scheming 
always brought about such a happy result, I think we 
should all do nothing else but plot and scheme. I am 
quite ready to take the responsibility of this ‘scheming,’ 
as you are pleased to call it.” 


08 


SYBIL TRLVYLLIAN. 


“Well, I am thankful it doesn’t rest on my con- 
science,” returned her husband; “since it isn’t all hap- 
piness and sunshine, by a great deal.” 

“ I am afraid there never was a girl of any attrac- 
tions, dear, that didn’t bruise at last one man’s heart 
before she found her true prince,” Lady Sara said. 
Having heard the whole conversation between her hus- 
band and Nixie, she was able to quote from it. 

“ I know it’s considered the proper thing for women 
to do as much of that sort of mischief as possible, be- 
tween the time of their coming out and securing the 
most eligible victim ; but if I were a woman, the least 
of it I had on my conscience the better I should like it. ” 

“Are men’s consciences so clear of that sort of sin?” 
asked Lady Sara, lightly. 

“ I never heard that two blacks make a white, nor 
that men set themselves up as models for women to 
copy,” Mr. Hargreave retorted. He added more gently : 
“ I have always hoped that my little Nixie would love 
one true, honest-hearted man, and be loved by him, and 
live happy ever after, as the fairy books say; but I 
suppose it was too much to expect. There, there,” he 
exclaimed, putting his arm about Nixie, seeing that 
tears had gathered on the brown lashes again, “ I can’t 
have you sad, and I won’t preach and scold any more. 
If you really love this lord better than you do Lorrie, 
why, Lorrie must bear his disappointment like a man, 
and I must try to like your Jack — at any rate, try to 
put up with him.” 

“Thank you, papa! you are an angel,” Nixie said 
softly, finding much more promise in her father’s face 
than in his words. 

“ You will make Lord Nether by very jealous if you 
call papa an angel and look at him like that, when he 
is by,” Lady Sara said. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


‘‘Let him be jealous, then,” her husband said; “she 
shall say and look what she likes.” He felt a jealous 
pang himself at the suggestion that any other man had 
a greater claim than he upon Nixie’s devotions. 

“Oh, very well, you shall settle it between your- 
selves,” laughed Lady Sara. “But will you please 
smooth^ your ruffled feathers now? for dinner is served, 
and I am sure poor Lord Nether by must think he is 
never going to have any, and that we have forgotten 
him altogether.” 

“ He needn’t have waited for us — I, for one, wish he 
hadn’t,” grumbled Mr. Hargreave, with a comical look 
at Nixie as he met her reproachful eyes. 


CHAPTER X. 


I can hear your voice, 

It bids my heart rejoice, 

As knowing your heart is there, 

A music sweet to declare 

The truth of your steadfast choice. 

— Rossetti. 


ADY SARA felt a little nervous about the dinner; 



she had no doubt that all her tact and skill would 


be needed to prevent anything like constraint and 
unpleasantness. To her surprise, however, all went 
smoothly without any special effort on her part. Her 
husband was sufficiently cordial in his greeting of Lord 
Netherby; Lord Xetherby’s manner was “simply per- 
fect from beginning to end,” as she said to herself when 
she reviewed the evening in the night watches, and she 
added with satisfaction that Audley had “never ap- 
peared to greater advantage.” The much-dreaded first 
meeting with her father being safely over, and his 
blessing promised. Nixie was radiantly happy; she 
could not be expected to grieve over Lorrie’s suffering 
on this occasion ; a little touch of shyness only added 
to the charm of her girlish grace and brightness. 

Mr. Hargreave could not help being won by the de- 
votion of Lord Netherby that shone in his eyes whenever 
they sought Nixie’s — and when did they not? — and 
spoke in the involuntary tenderness his voice took on 
whenever he addressed her. 

When dinner was over, and he and Mr. Hargreave 


70 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


71 


were left to themselves, he eagerly introduced the sub- 
ject nearest his heart, and received a somewhat cold, 
but unequivocal, consent to his suit. 

Later on, as he sat in a momentary revery, his fine 
face softened by happy thoughts, Mr. Hargreave found 
himself possessed by a sense of confidence and satisfac- 
tion in intrusting Nixie to his keeping. He even went 
so far as to contrast his two would-be sons-in-law ; his 
sudden anger, as he realized that he was “going back 
on poor Lorrie,” turning for the moment unjustly on 
Lord Netherby. What right had this man to come 
setting up a rival claim to Nixie’s affections? It was 
so much more flattering to a girl’s vanity to be adored 
by a man of thirty, with a title and estates and an 
assured position and knowledge of the world, than by 
a young fellow like Lorrie, with his name and place to 
make. But in the end he was obliged, in all honesty, 
to admit that Nixie had chosen wisely, and that he 
would not have it otherwise if he could. 

Lord Netherby was not disposed to wait long for his 
bride, and begged that the marriage might take place 
as soon as possible after her brother’s return. As that 
would be early in October, Mr. Hargreave stoutly re- 
sisted the proposal, dismayed at the idea of losing Nixie 
so soon. He had always pooh-poohed long engage- 
ments, but this, he felt, would be going to the other 
extreme; indeed, he would have liked Nixie’s engage- 
ment to be a very long one. But at length he yielded, 
with rather a poor grace, to Lord Netherby ’s arguments 
and persuasions ; and in the end, only the day and the 
hour were left to be decided upon between Lord 
Netherby and Lady Sara. 

Then Lord Netherby proposed a plan that Mr. Har- 
greave fell in with more cordially. His yacht, the 
Titania, was at Venice, and he was eager that they 


72 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


should go and spend a few days there, and return to 
England by sea. Nixie had said she should like it very 
much, and he hoped Lady Sara approved. 

In her secret heart Lady Sara did not approve. If 
the marriage was to be in October, it being now near 
the end of August, she felt she could not be at home 
too soon; and she pictured herself sitting for days on 
the deck of the Titania with folded hands, looking at 
the blue sky and the blue waves, and making herself 
agreeable, while there were a thousand and one things 
demanding her attention at Portman Square and Eden 
Wyck. But what she said was that nothing could be 
more charming than Lord Netherby’s plan. 

Everything being thus settled to the satisfaction of 
everybody, except, perhaps, Mr. Hargreave, he began 
to feel the pressure of a painful duty : his letter to Lor- 
rie must be written without delay; and the next morn- 
ing, after breakfast, resisting all Nixie’s entreaties to 
go on the lake just once before they left Como, he went 
away by himself, determined to do nothing else until 
his task was accomplished. He had been sitting for 
some minutes, pen in hand, gazing dolefully at the 
blank sheet, when a letter was handed him. It proved 
to be from Dr. Thornton, telling of Lorrie’s dangerous 
illness. 

It had been written at Sybil’s request. She would 
gladly have spared Mr. Hargreave the pain she knew 
the tidings would give him, but she felt a feverish de- 
sire that Lady Sara and Nixie should know of the havoc 
they had wrought. 

That the news was a great shock to Mr. Hargreave 
can well be imagined. Nixie disappeared the moment 
she had heard the letter, and was seen no more for some 
hours, much to the distress of Lord Netherby; and 
even his devotion could not altogether banish the sad- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


73 


ness caused by the thought of Lorrie’s and Sybil’s 
sufferings. 

, Lady Sara expressed herself as grieved, indeed, at the 
melancholy news; but when her husband announced 
his intention of taking the first train from Como, she 
raised her eyebrows and shrugged her shoulders ; why 
should people trouble themselves over a young man who 
was so weak as to have brain fever because he could 
not marry the first woman he happened to fall in love 
with? not that she gave voice to this query. 

“They are the children of my oldest friend,” her hus- 
band said, “ and I love them both as if they were my 
own flesh and blood ; and I am a trustee of their father’s 
will. It is my duty, as well as my pleasure, to go to 
them in their trouble and to be at hand if they need me.” 

“Certainly, dear, I quite appreciate your feeling,” 
his wife said. “ I am only thinking how disappointed 
Audley and Lord hTetherby will be at having to give 
up the yachting project. And it is a little awkward, 
when you think who it is that upsets it all — Lord 
Netherby’s rival in your affections, if not in Audley ’s.” 

“I can’t help it; awkward or not awkward, I shall 
start for London by the next train. Netherby isn’t the 
man I take him for if he doesn’t think it’s what I ought 
to do; and as for Nixie — she can hardly complain when 
it is all her doing,” Mr. Hargreave added with some 
severity. 

Lady Sara made no reply ; indeed she hardly heard 
what her husband said. She was thinking how hap- 
pily things had turned out, after all. Virtue had been 
its own reward, as she had so often found. Of course 
her husband could not expect her and Nixie to start with 
him at a moment’s notice; and Lord Netherby would 
of course go to Venice for his yacht. So she should 
be free to take Nixie home by way of Paris and order 


74 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


various things for the trousseau that could be got so 
much better there than in London. She knew how 
hard it would be to convince her husband of that possi- . 
bility; and just now she was in the state of mind, un- 
usual for her, that leads men, much oftener than women, 
to say, “ Anything for a quiet life !” 

“ Am I to be left in exile?” Lord Netherby asked, 
ruefully, when he heard from Lady Sara of the new 
arrangements. “Will you not let me come with you 
to Paris, and act as valet de place and courier? I will 
be very docile, and try to be very useful.” 

“ I am sure you would be most useful, and it would 
be the greatest possible comfort and pleasure ; but I am 
afraid I must act the conventional, worldly-wise mother, 
and bid you go to Venice and fetch the Titania^ while 
Audley and I do our shopping in Paris. You may 
make your appearance at Portman Square or at Eden 
Wyck, if we are there, as soon as ever you like.” 

Nixie did feel that she could not complain; and she 
acquiesced in her mother’s plans silently, if not cheer- 
fully. She wept when she bade her father good-by; 
and when, on the following day, she lost sight of Lord 
Netherby as the train moved from the station and left 
him standing, with his hat raised and a grave, tender 
smile on his lips, she wondered afresh how she could 
ever have dreamed that she loved Lorrie, when this 
good-by, which was only for a few days, seemed to 
tear her heart-strings and make her too sad for tears. 
How could she have helped seeing at that parting six 
weeks ago, the memory of which came back to her now 
with fresh self-reproach, that her sorrow was pity for 
Lorrie, with hardly a thought for herself? But if she 
had realized it, even then it was too late, she knew, to 
spare Lorrie and Sybil. 


CHAPTER XL 


O Joy, thy bliss restrain ! 

Speak softly, 

Lest thou shouldst waken pain. 

— From the German. 

M r. HARGREAVE drove from the station to St. Aus- 
tells on his arrival in London. He was too anx- 
ious for news of Lorrie to go home first. His heart was 
heavy enough at the thought of Lorrie ’s danger, and 
at having to confess to Sybil that he had given his con- 
sent to Xixie’s engagement to Lord Nether by ; but when 
he saw Sybil’s pale face and sad eyes, and learned from 
her how ill Lorrie was, he felt as remorseful as if he 
himself were responsible for it all. Not a word was 
said about the engagement ; Sybil asked no questions, 
and Mr. Hargreave was thankful not to introduce the 
subject. She seemed to have no interest outside the 
sick-room, soon excusing herself to go back to it. She 
did not speak of Mr. Hargreave’s coming home again, 
nor accept his offers of help ; yet it was a comfort to 
her, as the anxious days dragged on, to know that he 
never missed calling or sending for tidings of Lorrie ; 
and to find often, when she went down to - her hurried 
breakfast, a bunch of fresh flowers by her plate, with 
their old friend’s love and good wishes. Nixie had 
longed to fly to her on her return from Paris, hoping to 
win her forgiveness and be taken back to her heart ; and 
she was very unhappy when she drew from her father 

75 


76 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


the truth as to his own visit, and saw there was no 
hope of a meeting at present. 

Mr. Hargreave would have had the marriage put off, 
but Lord Netherby protested against that, while he was 
quite willing to have the quietest possible wedding, 
which compromise Lady Sara protested against in her 
turn. She went calmly on with her preparations, 
avoiding all discussion; and when Norman reached 
home, about the first of October, the crisis was long 
past, and Lorrie was gaining slowly — “by inches,” as 
Caroline said — but still he was fairly on the way to con- 
valescence. The wisdom of her course was thus proved 
to the eyes of all, as she felt with satisfaction. 

Lady Sara knew that her son had the highest opinion 
of Lord Netherby, and she felt she had a right to ex- 
pect some recognition of the sagacity that had brought 
about Nixie’s engagement to him, instead of to Lor- 
rance Trevy Ilian, through the simple and legitimate 
means of insight and caution. But she was disap- 
pointed : she had not even the comfort of hearing his 
heartfelt congratulations to his sister, nor the greetings 
that passed between him and Lord Netherby ; she missed 
them altogether ; and she could only note the expression 
that she caught now and then in Norman’s eyes, as 
they rested on his future brother-in-law, and the in- 
creased cordiality of their relations. She would have 
given much, too, to know exactly what Norman felt in 
regard to Lorrance and Sybil in the matter ; but it was 
always difficult to fathom his feelings, and in this case 
it seemed to be impossible. 

When the happy day came, and Lady Sara looked 
out of her window on rising in the morning, she felt as 
exultant and self-gratulatory as if she had made the 
weather herself — it “ was so perfect !” 

“ Blessed is the bride the sun shines on !” The bright 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


77 


prophecy was repeated to Nixie many times in the 
course of the day ; her friends were all eager to remind 
her of the happy augury ; and no wonder, for the sun 
shone from morning till night without a cloud to veil 
its glory; and surely it never shone on a happier, 
sweeter bride, nor a prouder, fonder bridegroom. 


CHAPTER XII. 


There’s many a white liand holds an urn 
With lovers’ hearts to dust consumed. 

— Mrs. Browning. 

Sweet is true love, though given in vain, in vain. 

— Tennyson. 

T he bride had departed amid tears and smiles and 
blessings; but the guests still lingered, and mu- 
sic still stirred the air at Eden Wyck, while at St. Aus- 
tell s, Lorrie had left his bed for the couch for the first 
time, the first attempt to try his strength proving his 
great weakness. 

His room looked out on the garden, and he lay with 
his great shining eyes fixed upon the trees outlined 
against the sky, still bright with the crimson and gold 
of the sunset. Sybil sat beside him, reading in a sooth- 
ing monotone from a book, without much sentiment or 
interest, in the hope that he might fall asleep. 

Lately, Lorrie had begun to grope among the memo- 
ries of what seemed, even to Sybil, a far-off past, and 
Sybil was in constant dread of his coming suddenly 
upon a full realization of what had happened before his 
illness. She had kept herself, to a great degree, igno- 
rant of all that passed outside his room; she never 
asked a question, or looked at a paper, or allowed any 
one to speak to her of anything that remotely concerned 
the Hargreaves, having the dread of those first ques- 
tionings before her, even while there seemed but small 

78 


l!9 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 

chance of her brother’s ever being conscious of anything 
again. Of late, each day had intensified the dread, so 
that the sound of his faint voice would set her heart 
beating wildly. Now, as she read on, she glanced up 
occasionally to see if his eyes had closed. Suddenly 
she found them fixed upon her. 

“Stop a minute.” His voice was faint but impera- 
tive. “ Is she married?” 

His eyes held hers, demanding an answer. Only the 
truth would satisfy him, she knew, and she would have 
given much, then, to know the truth. 

“Darling, I can’t tell you,” she said, leaning toward 
him, and speaking earnestly. 

A red spot came in each thin cheek, and the eyes 
shone with an almost angry light, as she knelt beside 
him. “I really don’t know, dearest,” she was saying 
when the door opened and the doctor entered. “ Thank 
God ! ” she ejaculated, under her breath. 

The shining eyes turned upon the doctor. “ Do you 
know? she won’t tell me.” 

“ Know what, my dear Lorrie? ” the doctor responded 
cheerfully. “ What is it that she won’t tell you?” 

Sybil never knew how she escaped and reached her 
own room ; she only knew that she must go away in 
order not to do something that would take the doctor’s 
attention from Lorrie for she was weak and worn with 
nursing and anxiety. 

“ Is Audley Hargreave married, or going to be?” 
Lorrie asked, as the doctor sat down beside him. 

“If I know, do you think I had better tell you?” he 
asked lightly. 

“Yes, yes; I must know,” was the reply in faint but 
feverish, eager tones. “ It is horrible to be in this sus- 
pense.” 

“ Then you shall know. I agree with you— anything 


80 


SYBIL TREVYLLTAN. 


is better than uncertainty. Yes, she is married.” 
Lorrie’s face grew rigid and drawn, and his breath 
came in quick gasps. The doctor gave him a quieting 
draught, and then, holding the hot, tremulous hand in 
his cool, firm clasp, said : “ Now, may I tell you some- 
thing about myself? only something that may show 
you that even such great troubles as yours can be borne. 
You and I are only two among a multitude of such 
proofs.” 

The gentle persuasiveness of his voice and manner 
held Lorrie’s attention, and he went on, after a pause 
in which he gathered composure for what had suddenly 
struck him as a possible way of helping Lorrie to meet 
this inevitable moment. His voice was low, but clear 
and steady. “ I too love a woman who does not — who 
never can — love me. And I shall never cease to love 
her ; it is the one love of my whole life ; and yet I am 
not wholly unhappy. Life is full of duties and pleasant 
things, and does not become worthless because we can- 
not win what we would give half a lifetime to possess.” 

“Is she married — the one you love?” Lorrie asked, 
calmed by the quiet voice, and stirred to sympathy by 
the passionate thrill of the last words. 

“ No — not yet. But she will be some day, no doubt, 
and I shall live and work on, and even find solace in 
her happiness — I hope. It is hard for a man if the one 
he loves finds her happiness in some one else, but he 
must rejoice in her happiness if he loves her better 
than himself. I hear that Lady Netherby is happy. 
Can you not find a little comfort in that? Will you 
not let it help you to bear your own loss?” 

Any one who had seen Lorrie then, so weak in body 
and mind, would not have wondered that the doctor 
spoke to him in much the same tone that one would use 
to a grieved child, nor would it have seemed strange. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


81 


though so pitiful, to see the slow tears press their way 
from beneath the closed lids, and the fever-parched lips 
quiver, as he shook his head in denial. 

“Well, if you cannot now, you will some day, when 
you are strong and well again. It seems to you now, 
no doubt, that your life is hopelessly spoilt, and you 
never can be happy again, having lost so much ; but 
believe me, peace will come, and life will prove to be 
worth the living.” 

Then, little by little, the doctor turned to quiet talk 
of other things ; and when Sybil came back, Lorrie was 
asleep. 

6 


CHAPTER XIII. 


My feet are weary, wandering to and fro, 

My eyes with seeing and my heart with waiting. 

In vain I stretch my hands to clasp their hands. 

I cannot find them. 

— Longfellow. 

A S soon as Lorrie was able to travel, he and Sybil 
went to the Riviera for the winter, as the doctor 
ordered. 

Caroline went with them, as a matter of course, and 
if their wanderings had lasted for ten years she would 
still have remained faithful to her trust, though she 
would probably never have ceased to despise foreigners, 
and their countries and their ways. She was an im- 
mense comfort to Sybil, with her equanimity of temper 
and spirits, her quaint ways of viewing people and 
things, and her watchful care for Lorrie. If she had 
been “self-conducted,” she would never by any chance 
have got to the right place, and might have lost her 
mind in the hurry and flurry that would have been her 
habitual conditions. But with no responsibilities as to 
trains and routes and times, she throve under difficulties, 
and the exigencies of travel had no power to daunt her. 
In packing and unpacking, in making the most of an 
unpromising situation, and the best of a hppeless one, 
she was beyond praise. She sometimes produced sup- 
plies suited to an emergency that made Sybil wonder 
where and when she had secreted them ; and the num- 

82 


SYBIL TRBVYLLIAN. 


83 


ber and quality of pots of tea that made their appear- 
ance when nothing else would have availed, could not be 
counted, nor their value overstated. How she always 
managed to get what she wanted from the hotel people, 
when she had not a word of anything but English to 
bless herself with, will always remain a mystery to 
Sybil, for her answer to all questions on the subject was 
always the least bit of a smile and nod of the head, or, 
“ I manage to make the stupid things understand.” In 
her heart she constantly sighed for the comfort and 
peace that, she firmly believed, could never be found 
outside England, and her sympathy for Sybil was deep 
and abiding. “ To think of Mr. Lorrie’s dragging her 
over Europe like this, and she so patient and good with 
him, ” she would say to herself again and again ; “ and 
making her and himself miserable all these months just 
because a heartless young lady marries somebody else 
for his title! It passes my comprehension altogether.” 

Sybil would have been really happy in seeing so 
much of which she had only read and dreamed before, 
though often sighing for home, if she could have felt 
that Lorrie was gaining in health and spirits. But it 
seemed only a distaste for England that kept him 
abroad ; and all her pleasure was clouded by his self- 
absorption and listlessness. He was never contented 
to have her long out of his sight, which was a consola- 
tion ; but her attempts to talk of anything that more 
nearly concerned themselves than their plans for the day 
— what they had seen, and what they should do next — 
were vain. Sometimes she felt so weary, so baffled, so 
isolated, even when sitting face to face with Lorrie, 
chatting or reading, that it seemed as if she could not 
bear it for another hour; and she wondered if some 
other sister would have succeeded where she had failed. 

They spent the early spring in Florence; and then 


84 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


went northward to the lakes, and to those lovel}^ valleys 
south of the mountains, that combine the grandeur of 
Switzerland with the softness and luxuriance of Italy. 
The autumn and winter found them in Rome and Na- 
ples ; and so the months wore on until the midsummer 
of the second year, when the heat became so intense 
and Lorrie was so prostrated by it that they decided to 
cross the mountains to Switzerland. 

They reached Domo d’Ossola about noon of one of 
the hottest of Italian days, having left Palanza in the 
early morning to avoid the heat as much as possible. 
They were to spend the night at Domo, and take an- 
other early start the next day. After a light lunch 
they separated, to rest after the long drive through the 
hot sun and stifling dust. 

About five o’clock, Sybil, having had a refreshing 
sleep, but feeling it still very hot, went down to the 
little salle de lecture^ hoping to find an entertaining 
book, as well as a cooler temperature. A gentleman 
and two ladies were there before her, so she took the 
most promising book she could discover in a hasty 
search, and went outside, seating herself at the farther 
end of the little balcony, which happened to be on the 
shady side of the hotel. 

Her book, after all, received much less of her atten- 
tion than the scene below, where some signs of life 
began to appear as the heat lessened. Here and there 
a white wooden shutter was opened a little way, and a 
few townspeople were emerging from behind their cur- 
tained doors, and stood fanning themselves, or moved 
lazily along in the shadow of the tall buildings, the only 
sounds being the hum of insects, the peevish cries of 
children, and the slow clatter of occasional hoofs on the 
roughly paved street. 

Presently a fresh sound, the distant jangle of bells. 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


85 


smote the sultry air, and Sybil amused herself listening 
to its growing distinctness, and then to the cracking of 
the whip and the noise of hoofs and wheels coming 
nearer and nearer, until some heavy vehicle, which she 
was sure must be a travelling carriage, dashed up to 
the front of the hotel and stopped. She was half in- 
clined to leave the balcony and go where she could 
satisfy the small degree of curiosity she felt; but as 
she would have to pass through the salle de lecture, 
and meet the scrutiny of its occupants again, she stayed 
where she was, listening to the pleasant confusion of 
voices in the distance, and of hurrying feet and open- 
ing and shutting of doors, and wondering if they should 
meet all these people at dinner. They never fell in 
with their own country-people without Sybil’s having 
a dread of something unpleasant or even painful; she 
began now to wish they were going on to Simplon, as 
they had talked of doing, and she took up her book, as 
the momentary excitement of the new arrival seemed 
to have died away, to avoid thinking about it. 

But suddenly there was a fresh opening and shutting 
of doors, and footsteps and voices drew near. The door 
into the salle was thrown open, then there followed a 
merry outcry of surprised and joyful greetings. Evi- 
dently the new-comers were friends of the previous 
occupants of the room, and the unexpected meeting 
was a pleasure to all. 

As the first cheerful clamor subsided, Sybil found her- 
self straining every nerve to catch something that 
seemed, yet could not, must not, be familiar, and at 
the same moment a clear, sweet, well-known voice fell 
on her ear. 

“ Yes, really, in spite of the heat we are on our way 
to Venice! We are going to meet the Grahams — you 
remember Cousin James, don’t you, Grace?” 


86 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“Oh, yes, very well,” a strange voice replied. 

“ They are just arriving from India, and we are to 
meet them in Venice, and take them home in the 
Titania” 

“How delightful! Colonel Graham has married 
again, hasn’t he?” 

“ Oh, yes, years age. There are four or five little 
children, and of course Lynette and Clive, dear 
things ” 

Then there followed a confusion of voices, as the 
friends chatted busily together. 

“Do you know,” said a pleasant manly voice, in a 
momentary hush, “that Netherby and Nixie are going 
off on along yachting expedition, fired thereto, I believe, 
by the happy voyage of the Sunbeam? ” 

At the first sound of that voice Sybil’s color had fled, 
and her hands were pressed tightly together, although 
its low tones, mingling with the other voices, were what 
she had all the time breathlessly listened for. There 
was an outburst of surprise and regret at this announce- 
ment, and endless questions were asked and answered. 

“It is not really sudden,” a less familiar voice said; 
“we have been talking about it. Nixie and I, ever since 
I can remember.” At this there was a general laugh. 
“ She loves the sea as much as I do, which is saying a 
great deal.” 

“Yes, indeed, I delight in it; I think I should go 
down and live among the mermaids if I could take 
Jack and baby with me.” 

“Oh, what about that wonderful baby?” somebody 
asked. “I suppose you will leave him with Lady 
Sara.” 

Sybil could not help smiling at Nixie’s vehement 
protest against this suggestion, and her husband and 
brother laughed heartily. “ If we couldn’t take baby 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


87 


with us, we shouldn’t dream of going; should we, 
Jack?” 

“ I don’t know about that; I’m not so sure.” 

“ Oh, but I am so sure !” Nixie declared. 

“You would stay with the baby and let Lord Neth- 
erby go by himself, perhaps.” 

“ Never — never — never !” 

It seemed the only word Nixie could find voice for; 
to Sybil’s ear there was a volume in each utterance; 
and the sharp conflict between sympathy with Nixie, 
and a waking up of the old tenderness, and bitter jeal- 
ousy for Lorrie, with his blighted life, was almost more 
than she could bear. 

For a moment she ceased to listen to the conversa- 
tion that followed ; and the next sound she noticed was 
the opening of the door into the salle, and the an- 
nouncement that milord’s carriage was ready. 

Then there was a pleasant mingling of voices as the 
friends left the room together. In a few minutes more 
the jangling of the bells and the cracking of the whip 
and the noise of hoofs and wheels were heard again, 
and gradually died away in the distance. 

Sybil could, at any moment during that half-hour, 
by turning her head and peering through the jalousies^ 
have looked into the faces of her two earliest friends ; 
a dozen steps, and she and Nixie might have been in 
each other’s arms; a friendly hand might have clasped 
hers, and eyes that had always seemed to divine her 
thought before it was spoken might have shone upon 
her once more. She knew how glad Nixie would have 
been at such a meeting ; she had many a little note full 
of love and longing which she had never answered, 
because it would have seemed a disloyalty to Lorrie ; 
and she knew what halm it would have been to her 
lonely heart to feel a warm, loving embrace once more. 


88 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


It was like waking from a dream to find it a reality — 
to know that of a truth their hands had been within 
reach of her hand, and now they were gone, and she 
should never see them again ; so she felt in that mo- 
ment of desolation. She started to her feet, and 
stretched out her arms toward the vanished sounds, 
with a stified cry, “ How could I let them go like that — 
how could I?” 

“ Here you are ; I have been looking for you in all 
possible and impossible places. I concluded you must 
have gone for a walk. ” 

Sybil sank back in her chair as Lorrie came out on 
the balcony. How strange, how incredible, that she 
should not once have thought of the possibility of his 
coming upon the scene while the Iletherbys were there! 

“Oh, no! I have been sitting here for a long time. 
It was too hot to walk.” 

“ I wonder who those people are that I passed on the 
stairs just now — two ladies and a man; have you seen 
them?” 

“ They were in the little salle when I came through.” 

“ Britishers of course, and I’ve ordered dinner to be 
served in our rooms. I heard a great rumbling concern 
driving off as I came down: did you see it?” 

“No, I only heard it.” 

Late in October, while Sybil and Lorrie were in 
Milan debating as to plans for the coming winter, Sybil 
received a letter from Mrs. Norcliffe, which, after some 
hesitation, she gave to Lorrie to read. . It said that 
Lord and Lady Netherby, and their son and heir, had 
sailed two days before for a long yachting trip. Dr. 
Thornton accompanying them. Mr. Hargreave was 
disconsolate. Lady Sara calm as usual; Norman was 
abroad somewhere — just started, etc., etc. 

Lorrie read the letter in silence, and handed it back 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


89 


to Sybil ; but the next morning he said carelessly, “ If 
you like to go back to St. Austells for the winter, I 
don’t mind.” 

“With you?” asked Sybil, almost breathless with 
surprise and joy. 

“ I am not likely to let you go home if I meant to 
stay abroad myself, am I?” 

“ I hope not, indeed ; but are you sure you are well 
enough to go back just as the winter is setting in? Do 
you think Dr. Thornton would approve?” 

“ I should think so — anyhow I am heartily sick of 
hotels and railways, and am quite ready to go home. ” 

A week later they were at St. Austells. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Who can light on as happy a shore 
All the world o’er, all the world o’er? 

— Tennyson. 

The Titat^ia, off Tahiti, 
January, 188 — . 

M y dearest Papa : — I cried for joy to-day when Jack brought 
me the blessed budget of home letters waiting for us here, 
the first we have had for two months ! Little Jack climbed up 
in my lap, thinking, dear pet, that I must be in trouble, for he 
had never seen me cry before, and didn’t know that I had any 
tears. He couldn’t understand what Jack told him, that it 
was “happy crying,” but peered up into my face, and said dis- 
mally • “ Not happy kying ; tears des like Boy’s.” He calls him- 
self Boy now — quite resents being called Baby, since one daj" 
when the captain, with whom he is the best of friends, said ; “ He 
isn’t a baby; he’s a big boy.” Well, I was obliged to have a 
little romp with him to prove that I was not ill or sad, before I 
could sit down to my feast ; and what a feast it was, to be sure ! 
I wish I had time to write of all the interesting things in each of 
the letters, but I must keep to what I know you will most wish 
to hear about — our own doings and seeings, as the steamer that 
takes the mails to San Francisco and brought them here sails 
early to-morrow morning, and our letters must be on board to 
night. I shall have plenty of time to tell you what we see and 
do in this little paradise while we are on our way to the Sand- 
wich Islands, where our next letters will be posted, and where 
we shall find another home budget ; after that no more until we 
reach Borneo ! It is dreadful to think of. Jack would say. 
Then don’t think of it! but how can I help it? 

We only cast anchor in these lovely waters this morning, and I 
was never more glad of anything than when I heard Jack’s cry of 
“Land ahead !” from his perch in the rigging. He is almost as 

90 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


91 


good a sailor as Captain Bowen, and I am almost as good as 
Jack ! As for Boy, I really don’t know what you and mamma 
would say if you could see him scampering about ; I am afraid 
you would think me a very careless mother, but he never has had 
anything more than a bump or a bruise over which he hardly 
shed a tear. He is as fearless and sure-footed as a monkey, and 
the men are all so fond of him that he never has a chance to get 
into danger. I do wish you could hear his clear, sweet voice 
ringing out from one end of the yacht to the other when he 
tries to repeat the captain’s orders, and could see how he steadies 
himself and marches bravely on when the ship gives a lurch. O 
papa, you would be proud of your grandson ! I have taught him 
to repeat the dear old toast, “All we love and all who love us.” 
And he says, after Our Father, “God b’ess all my fyends and 
keep them safe. ” I could write on endlessly about him, but Jack 
and the doctor have finished their letters, and the dingey is to 
take us all on shore when mine is ready. My feet fairly dance 
at thought of being on land once more, after weeks of more or 
less tossing and rolling , and this land, that we had in sight so 
long, before we could find a safe entrance through the coral reef, 
is enchanting beyond belief, with its towering rocks and won- 
derful tropical trees and flowers, and picturesque people. If 
I could have you and mamma and Norman, and a few others 
besides those I have now, I should be tempted to listen to the sea 
fairies, and “fly no more from this happy blossoming shore.” 

Some of the natives have been to see us already, the gen- 
tlest, merriest creatures — just^ what the other earl and doctor 
describe them. They brought us two little boatloads of fruit 
and flowers— sttc/i fruit, and such flowers! I only wish you 
could have some of our lavish supply. I am sure if Mr. Sala 
had ever eaten a South Sea Island banana he wouldn’t have said 
it was like “shaving-soap 1” You would have laughed to see how 
amazed our visitors were to find a wmman, from over the sea, 
as brown as themselves. Of course we are all tanned to several 
shades browner than is natural to us, but the extra coatings 
make me more than “nut-brown,” so that the contrast between 
me and my fair- skinned companions is kept up. I tell them 
that when it comes to being burned and tanned, a brown per- 
son has the advantage. 

We expect to make many additions to our various “collections” 
here. Each of us has his scientific pursuit, mine being butter- 
flies and shells, the doctor’s plants in general, and Jack’s bee 


92 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ties and ferns. Boy dabbles in each as he has the chance, rather 
to the discomfiture of the other “scientists” sometimes, but to 
his own satisfaction. I really think if Jack hadn’t Boy and 
me to divert his mind from more serious matters, and keep him 
frivolous, he would become a second Darwin, he has such a 
vivid “scientific imagination.” He sees as much in a green bee- 
tle or a rare fern as ordinary mortals do in a bird of paradise, or 

the whole “tropical flora.” He [the letter was finished in 

Lord Netherby’s handwriting :] 

You will not wonder, in view of the flippant nature of 
Nixie’s last remarks, and of the fact that the time is really up, 
that I have felt obliged to take the pen into my own hand, much 
to little Jack’s resentment — he thinks his little mother is being 
somehow maltreated. Nixie has not told you what you will be 
especially glad to hear — that we are all in splendid health and 
condition, in spite of bad weather and a day or two’s mal de mer, 
and also that the Titania has proved herself to be the most abso- 
lutely trustworthy little craft that ever sailed through stormy 
seas. I need not tell you that Nixie and little Jack are sailors 
worthy of the Titania, to say nothing of myself. 

Nixie insists on sending her love to you all, as if you hadn’t 
it in safe possession already, as you have mine and Boy’s. “God 
bless us, every one, ” as Tiny Tim used to say, and keep us all 
safe to meet again before many months. From the Sandwich 
Islands our faces will be practically turned homeward, and it 
will be an exceedingly pleasant sensation, much as we are enjoy 
ing our voyagings. 

The doctor begs to add his kindest regards to yourself and 
Lady Sara and Norman, and I remain, as ever, 

Yours affectionately, 

Netherby. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Enjoy the spring of love and youth — 

To some good angel leave the rest. 

— Tennyson. 

Celebes Hotel, Macassar, March, 188—. 

M y dearest Papa : — It is delicious to be on land once more 
after another six weeks at sea, and thrice delicious to get 
home letters again, and with only good news ! 

We reached Macassar last night and came ashore this morn- 
ing, and shall stay at this funny little hotel for a day or two, 
just for the novelty of the thing. B03" has already made great 
friends with everybody, from the landlord to the cook ; and 
seems to think he owns the hotel, as much as he does the Titania. 
A little while ago nurse, who had been writing her letters, and 
had lost sight of Master Jack for a time — she thought he was 
with Marie, and Marie thought he was with me — came for me to 
go with hei- and see where she had found him, after an anxious 
search — perched on the kitchen table ! on a three-legged -stool, 
deeply interested in the construction of a wonderful Dutch cake, 
which the ehef had volunteered to make for him, though how 
they had arrived at that degree of intimacy I can’t imagine, 
since he speaks no English, and Boy only knows three words of 
Dutch. When he saw me he screamed with delight, and danced 
about the table, to the peril of the eggs and sweetmeats that 
were to go into the cake. But the little fat cook only laughed, 
while his satellites stood watching Boy as if he had been the 
little gnome he looked. I am afraid mamma will think we are 
letting him run wild, and will quite disapprove of us as parents ; 
but he does enjoy his liberty so dearly ! and he is a good, obedi- 
ent little chap, in spite of all the spoiling he gets, and wonder- 
fully sweet and loving, as I am sure you will say when you see 
him. 

The voyage from the Sandwich Islands has been delightful — 

93 


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SYBIL TREVYLLIAN 


such smooth seas and such an idle, sumptuous sort of life ! The 
only thing I could possibly wish for — besides the chronic one of 
having you all with us — was novels! Oh, how I did wish for 
some novels, old or new, sensational or dull, I shouldn’t have 
cared what. We had given away all our “light literature” to 
friends at Honolulu, who were starving for something to read, 
and had nothing left but Darwin and Wallace and Jack’s books 
on beetles and navigation, and the doctor’s books on botany and 
medicine ; and I was not in the mood for such dry reading. 

One day I was lying on my cushions on deck, picturing to 
myself what it would be to have a huge pile of three-volume 
novels at my elbow, and I dare say looking very cross and dis- 
contented, when Jack came along, and asked me what was the 
matter. And what do you think? I burst into tears like any 
heroine, and in smothered tones replied that I wanted some- 
thing nice to read. I really thought he would never have done 
laughing at me ; and what do you suppose he suggested as a 
substitute for other people’s novels? — that I should write one 
myself!' I declared that I couldn’t, anymore than he could 
make a live green beetle or a growing fern ; but it ended in 
my actually setting about it, and for a few days I was so 
absorbed in the fate of my heroes and heroines that I was dis- 
tressed if any one spoke to me, and more than once sent poor 
Boy away when he came for a game or a “toly.” I was very 
ambitious to make Jack’s and the doctor’s hair stand on end 
when I read my chapters to them, and they always declared 
that it did. The story was in danger of rivalling “Robert 
Elsmere” in length, when it was interrupted by our casting 
anchor here, and it remains to be seen whether I shall ever have 
the hardihood to go on with it. When I left off, the hero, hav- 
ing lost sight of the heroine for a longtime, through the machi- 
nations of wicked relations, who want him to marry somebody 
else for property reasons, has just caught an agonizing glimj^se 
of her lovely face as she dashes out of Paris in the rapide, 
while he steams slowly into Paris in a train omnibus! Is not 
that a thrilling situation ? The doctor disapproves of my making 
all my heroes and heroines beautiful and good and rich, and 
with fine names ; but I tell him that it is a pity if a person 
can’t make the “world of her imagination” to suit herself. 

What dissipations you are plunged into by this time, poor 
papa ! I do feel for you. I shall not know myself and Jack in 
the gay world again ; but we mean to spend the autumn at the 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


95 


dear old Abbey, and you and mamma and Norman are to come to 
ns for a whole month — Jack says so. We shall have you to our- 
selves at first; then some of Jack’s people are coming. 

Ah me ! woe’s me ! as poor Mr. Carlyle used to say — here is 
Jack come to tell me that my letter must be posted “ instantly” to 
catch the mail. We go from here in three days to Eleopura, at 
the top of Borneo, where we shall find letters again — and write 
again — O blissful thought ! 

My love and kisses for you all. Ever, dearest papa. 

Your devoted 


Nixie. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Whene’er the fate of those I hold most dear 
Tells to my fearful heart a tale of sorrow, 

O bright-eyed Hope, my morbid fancy cheer. 

Let me awhile thy sweetest comfort borrow. 

— Keats. 

The Titania, off Eleopura, April, 188 — . 

M y dearest Norman : — I have just finished a long letter to 
mamma, but am not ready to lay down my pen yet. What 
a pleasant experience it was to have another budget of home let- 
ters this morning — two within ten days ! it makes England 
seem quite close to us ; and how pleasant it is to feel that our 
faces are turned homeward ! Between ourselves, I think Jack 
has been a little bit jealous of my “ Heiniweli, ” as he calls my 
longing for letters, and to see you all ; but he manifests it in such 
a sweet way that it only makes me love him the more. It isn’t 
that morose kind of jealousy that I should think would tempt a 
wife to punish her husband by giving him some cause — only it 
would be punishing herself more ! He made me quite remorse- 
ful once by saying, with such a look in his eyes ; “ili?/ home is 
where my wife is ; her home is England. ” I felt as if I never 
would think of England or letters again ; but I didn’t have to 
do anything so desperate, not to say impossible, to satisfy him 
that no place in the whole wide world would be home to me 
where he was not, bless him ! How thankful I shall be when 
he is safely back from those dreadful black bird’s-nest caves. I 
could not abide having them undertake it, it is such a fearful 
expedition ; but it was the thing they looked forward to doing 
in Borneo, and Jack would have been so disappointed to give 
it up. 

Little Jack’s not being well makes it harder to be without 
liim, and I am counting the hours until they can get back. It is 
only the heat that has i)ulled him down, poor little man, but it 

96 


SYBIL TREl^^LLIAN. 


97 


is sad to see liim so unlike his merry, active, little self. He 
only cares to sit in iny lap and have me tell him “ tolies” or sing 
to him ; but he is asleep now, having a nice long nap, and I 
hope he will feel all the brighter when he wakes. I shall not 
have very cheerful memories of Borneo, at least, compared xvith 
other places, though I have some Bornean butterflies that ought 
to make a collector feel repaid for coming, even if thej'^ were 
the only things worth seeing here, which they are not by any 
means. Bits of the coast are enchanting, and this tropical 
vegetation is always bewilderingly fascinating, though I can’t 
get over the disappointment of not seeing gorgeous flowers and 
birds and insects at every turn, as I always imagined one 
would in the tropics. Jack says if I had read my Wallace 
properly, I should have known better. 

I wish I could make you see what we saw in our one expe- 
dition to the Celebes. We came upon it by chance in a secluded 
nook shut in by trees and shrubs and splendid creepers. As we 
pushed our way through the leafy wall, hundreds of butterflies, 
of every imaginable color, fluttered in the air, disturbed by our 
invasion. What a sight it was ! It was as if myriads of flower 
petals had suddenly taken to themselves wings. And I could 
have captured scores of them if I had not been so dazed by the 
wonder of it as to forget that I was a collector until the bright 
things had fluttered out of reach. I was not really sorry, for it 
would have been a sin to put an end to such happy little lives 
as theirs must be, spent in a place like that, a fitting home for 
the fairies. Wallace tells of seeing such a sight, but we should 
not have dared to hope for such a piece of good luck. I be- 
lieve Java, where we are going next, is the most interesting 
island in the world — except Great Britain, for, besides the trop- 
ical wonders, there are those marvellous Brahminical ruins. 
They are the things we are going there to see chiefly, but we 
shall take the rest en passant. I only hope the man-eating 
tigers will not hunt us while we hunt the ruins. What a bliss- 
ful country England is, to be sure ! I never half appreciated our 
blessings before ; no parching heat, no bitter cold, no mosqui- 
toes ! and how nice it is to have all the unpleasant animals shut 
up in the Zoo, where one can look at them without inadver- 
tently taking hold of or stepping on them, or being eaten up by 
them. Be thankful, dear, that you are an Englishman, as I am 
that Jack is, and that I am an Englishwoman, and that Boy is 
an English child. I have never described our encounters with 
7 


98 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN, 


centipedes and scorpions in my letters, because I was afraid 
they might give you all the nightmare, as they do me, but we 
have had them ! 

I think Java will be our last stopping -jylcice except Ceylon. 
I suspect that even Jack is longing to get home, for I heard him 
quoting Mr. Browning to the doctor one day, when we were 
being slowly baked by the burning sun, “Oh, to be in England 
now that April’s there !” I am sure the man who wrote about 
“sacred, high, eternal noon” had never been in the tropics. 

I don’t know just when our letters will leave Eleopura to 
catch the ‘P. and O. ’ at Singapore, but I should think I might 
leave this open until Jack comes back to-morrow, and be able 
to tell you that he is safe and well, and that little Jack is all 
right again. I can ask the Lacys who are coming on board to 
have tea with me this afternoon. I hear dear Boy’s voice now, 
and must go to him. 

Two days later ; I have only time to tell you the dismal 
fact that my poor Jack came back yesterday, really ill ; and no 
wonder, when they went for hours in dripping clothes, and liad 
no end of fearful adventures that I have not time to describe. 
The rest of the party took no harm, but I think poor Jack is 
suffering for them all The doctor says he will be himself again 
in a day or two, and that before you get this letter we shall be 
seeing new wonders. And Jack says I am to record his promise 
to do no more rash things — to run no more risks of any sort. 
He will not, for I shall be like his shadow henceforth ; and 
where I can’t go, he shall not ! 

Dear Boy is much brighter to-day. We are on shore in a 
most comfortable bungalow, and the Lacys are kindness itself, 
supplying us with everything we need that we have not got. 

Jack sends his love, and Boy sends kisses, and the doctor 
adds kind regards. 

Ever, dearest Norman, your devoted 


Nixie. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Of voices whereof but to speak 
Makes mine own all sunk and weak. 


Ml'S. Browning. 


Buitenzorg, Java, May, 188 — . 



Y DEAR Mr. Hargreave ; — I am writing to you at Lady • 


M Netherby’s request, as the mails must leave i.ere in an 
hour or two to catch the P. and O. steamer, and she is anxious 
not to lose the post. I am sorry to tell you that Lord Netherby is 
suffering from another feverish attack, which, however, I hope, 
may prove the last of the evil effects of our ill-starred visit to 
the caves, as it certainly is less severe than the first attack. 

He picked up wonderfully during the short and pleasant 
voyage from Borneo, and little Jack too seemed more like him- 
self. But the heat in Batavia was excessive — at best, I should 
sa}^ it was a place to fly from — and they were both very much 
prostrated by it. So we came to Buitenzorg, forty miles from 
the sea, and a thousand feet above it, and said to be very health- 
ful. We came by easy stages ; the journey was very interesting 
and the roads good, and we were charmed with the place when 
we ar.ived. The hotel is comfortable, and the nights are delight- 
fully cool. In fact, everything promised so well that we were 
all greatly disappointed when Lord Netherby had this fresh access 
of fever. But I feel so certain we shall quickly get the better 
of it that, except that it was Lady Netherby’s wish, I should 
hardly have mentioned it. 

I have another melancholy fact to refer to, but it chiefly 
concerns myself. The letters that met me at Batavia bring tid- 
ings of the serious illness of my mother, and I must part com- 
pany with my delightful fellow-voyagers, and start for England 
as soon as possible. I should indeed have left here to-day for 
Batavia, but for Lord Netherby’s attack. As it is, I shall wait 


99 


100 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


for the Netherlands steamer that sails direct from Batavia, as I 
have missed the British Indian line that stops here. 

I shall leave Lord Netherby in good hands. We fell in at 
Macassar with an old chum of mine who is one of the cleverest 
“medicine men” I know, and as agreeable as he is clever. He 
has been one of our party ever since, and is glad to take my place 
and go home in the Titania. So I shall have no anxiety in leav- 
ing, but I shall have the heartiest regrets in not being able to 
finish the cruise, which has been an unmixed enjoyment from 
the beginning, barring the sorrowful effects of our one expedition 
that could be characterized as rash. 

I am afraid it will seem a Quixotic suggestion, but I do 
wish very much to take little Jack with me to England ’ There 
is nothing really to cause anxiety, but he does need fresh, brac- 
ing air, and to run loose in it. With that and good, wholesome 
• English food, his liver would soon cease to be torpid, and he 
would get back his flesh and his rosy cheeks. I have not yet 
ventured to propound this startling plan to his parents, but I 
think I shall do it, as Dr. Ingham agrees with me that it would 
be the best thing possible for the child ; in fact, it was he who 
first suggested it. If Lord Netherby recovers quickly, as we 
hope and believe he will do, it will be a pity for him not to 
carry out ^his plans, as Ingham is rather an authority on the 
fauna and flora of these islands, and has made a study, too, of 
the Brahminical ruins here. On the other hand, if the fever 
should prove obstinate, it niight be some time before he could get 
away from Buitenzorg and take to the yacht again ; and in either 
case it would be hard on little Jack. The more I think of it, 
the more I feel compelled to propose taking him home with me, 
and the more I realize the difficulties in the way — the terrible 
ordeal it would be to Lady Netherby — I must leave it in uncer- 
tainty for the moment. Of course if I should be intrusted with 
the precious charge, I should telegraph from Batavia to make 
known the fact of my bringing the little boy and the name of 
the steamer, etc., etc. Such a telegram would be startling, as 
you would not have received this letter ; but I am afraid that 
cannot be helped. 

Lady Netherby charged me with her love to yourself and 
Lady Sara and her brother, and her thanks for the welcome 
letters, which she hopes to answer by the next mail. I was to 
say also that you were not to feel anxious about Lord Netherby 
and little Jack ; and I can assure you on my own part that there 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


101 


is no cause. I have this moment seen Lord Netherby, and 
found his temperature decidedly lower and his general condi- 
tion better, and I trust the worst is over. Ingham is a capital 
nurse, and Lord Netherby ’s people are devotion itself. With 
kindest regards, believe me 

Yours faithfully. 

Hartley Thornton. 

Buitenzorg, May, 188—. 

My own dear Papa : — To think that before this reaches you, 
my little Jack, our baby boy, will be in your arms ! What it was 
to let him go, and what it is to be without him — not to hear 
his voice nor the patter of his little feet — I cannot even try to 
tell you, but you can imagine. He hg,d grown so white and 
thin and languid I could not say no when the doctors both said 
the voyage to England would make him quite well and strong 
again, and, above all, when dear. Jack said, ‘Let him go, dar- 
ling — you may lose us both if you don’t.” I knew he said that 
because he felt convinced that it w^as Baby’s only chance, and 
that he would have been so anxious about him, if he stayed, 
that it would prevent his gaining strength as fast as he ought, 
which was too dreadful to think of ; and besides, I felt that if 
Baby got really ill, I could not be with Jack while he was, oh, 
so slowly getting well, and needed me so much to cheer and pet 
him and at the same time be nursing Baby, as I must. So I 
said yes, and he has been gone two days. Oh, if God would 
let my poor Jack gain strength faster, so that we could follow 
him soon — not that it is my great longing for that that makes 
me pray that health may come faster and surer — it is because I 
cannot bear to see my dearest suffer, bcause I must have him 
well. When he seems a little better, my heart sings Glorias 
and Te Dennis, even while I think of Baby on the sea. But 
when the fever and the pain come again, I feel as if I should 
die of grief, and I almost forget my little son, while my heart 
cries out to God for healing for my husband, and I tend him 
smiling, so that he shall not think I am pining for Baby. This 
dreadful fever is so obstinate, and recovery is so slow, and the 
heat, even here, is so against him. Oh, to have him in the cool 
air of home ; but I must not think of that, and having our dear ones 
about us— it takes all my strength, and I must not look ill or sad 
when he wakes. This little talk to you, papa— oh, that it were 
a talk with you— has done me good. 


102 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Jack sent his love to you. He is so patient and cheerful ; the 
doctor says that is greatly in his favor, and he is really better 
to-day, thank God. 

I know you all pray for Little Jack on the sea, for the tele- 
gram must have reached you before this time, and you know 
that he is on the way to you — and for me, and, above all, for 
Jack, although you cannot know yet that he is ill again. 1 wish 
prayers could he said for him in the little church at our own 
home, where everybody loves him so, and for Baby — but wlien 
this reaches you he will be safe in your arms, and my hus- 
band will be well in answer to my prayers. Dear love to you 
all. 

Your sad-hearted 


Nixie. 


P. S. — Dr. Ingham is the greatest comfort. I did not think 
we could have found anybody so nice after Dr. Thornton ; he 
inspires one with such confidence, besides being so cheery and 
kind. We are very fortunate in liaving him to fill Dr Thorn- 
ton’s place, as he was obliged to leave us. 


This letter was never posted, as a sudden access of 
fever the same night put every thought, save of her 
husband, out of Nixie’s mind for many days. 

And the telegram was never sent. When Dr. Thorn- 
ton reached Batavia, with Little Jack and his nurse, 
he found that the Netherlands steamer was to sail, al- 
most immediately, some hours sooner than he supposed, 
so that he had only time to attend to some necessary bus- 
iness for Lord Netherhy, change a cheque for himself, 
and hurry on board with his little charge. He left the 
telegram that was to inform Mr. Hargreave of their sail- 
ing, with a clerk at the hotel where he stopped to pick 
up some luggage; and, through nothing worse than 
carelessness, it was miskiid and never came to light, 
no doubt in time being burnt as waste paper. 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

To build a new life oli the ruined life, 

To make the future fairer than the past, 

And make the past appear a troubled dream. 

— Longfelloiv. 

^ ^ T HAVEN’T told you of my adventure to-day, 
L have I, Lorrie?” 

“No.” 

“Then come and sit near me; I can’t make you hear 
so far away without an effort, and an effort would be a 
sin on such a night as this.” 

It is a year and eight months since the Netherbys 
started on their yachting cruise, and Lor ranee and 
^ybil returned from their wanderings to St. Austells. 

If Sybil dreamed then that their wanderings were 
mded, and that she might settle down to home life and 
the old occupations, and that her brother would begin 
to work, her dreams were not to be realized ; for they 
had hardly been at home a month when Lorrie declared 
himself heartily tired of London, and proposed going to 
the south of France for the winter. 

It was a bitter disappointment to Sybil; but Lorrie 
was pale, and thin, and restless, seeming to find no 
pleasure in anything, and she. had not the heart to op- 
pose hi^ wishes. She could not bring herself to say 
what she felt so deeply, that nothing could relieve his 
ennui and give him heart and hope but resolute effort— 
the simple, commonplace remedy of mental and physical 

103 


104 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


exertion — having an aim and working for it. She knew' 
he would tell her that he had nothing to work for, and 
she did not need to be told that he regarded his life as 
hopelessly blighted, nor that his thoughts were chiefly 
occupied with self-pity and resentment of his wrongs. 
So with a heavy heart she prepared for a fresh exile. 

They spent the winter in Mentone, and when spring 
came Lorrie insisted that it was ridiculous to think of 
going back to England, when there were so much more 
agreeable places to spend the summer in ; and when 
autumn came again he could not think with any patience 
of the cold rains and fogs and general unpleasantness of 
London in the winter, and they went to Italy. 

They came hack to England suddenly in March, on 
account of the serious illness of their aunt, Mrs. Nor- 
cliffe. When she had recovered sufficiently to have a 
change of air and scene, she proposed their going to- 
gether to St. Clements, and nothing could have pleased 
Sybil more. Lorrie, even, liked the novelty of the plan 
and, much to Sybil’s delight, was inclined to stay on 
when their aunt returned to London. Sybil loved the 
sea, and loved it above all at St. Clements, and was 
thankful, too, to hear nothing about going abroad for 
the summer. 

So for the last month they had been settled in a com- 
fortable old house, in the prettiest part of the island, 
and it was in the front porch, with its fragrant drap- 
eries of roses and honeysuckle, that Sybil was sitting 
when she called Lorrie to come and hear the story of 
her adventure. 

The twilight was gathering, but the air was soft and 
warm, and the sunset glow still lingered on^the low- 
lying clouds and on the sea, and here and there trans- 
formed a granite pinnacle on a neighboring island into 
a distant mountain top, while the rocky masses and 


8YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


105 


green slopes and bright sands of St. Clements were fast 
losing their familiar outlines. As the twilight deepened 
the moon began to cast pale lights and soft shadows, 
and the ceaseless plash of the water against the rocks 
and the occasional cry of a belated sea-bird were the 
only sounds that had broken the stillness for some time 
when Sybil spoke. 

Lorrie brought his chaise-longue and seated himself 
beside Sybil’s low wicker chair, and she began: “I 
have been wishing ever since we came here to take 
Caroline to see the gardens and ruins of St. Ann’s, and 
have only been waiting for a perfectly smooth sea ” 

“A rare phenomenon.” 

“Very, but Caroline isn’t a good sailor, and I wanted 
her to enjoy the expedition, hoping to overcome her 
prejudices a little; she doesn’t approve of the sea, and 
it is rather hard upon her, being here. Well, last night 
I thought we were pretty certain to have a smooth sea 
to-day, and I told Trawley to have his boat ready so 
that we could make an early start, and we were fairly 
off by nine o’clock. I hope Lydia gave you my mes- 
sage. I forgot to tell you of our plans last night.” 

“ She told me you had gone somewhere with Caroline 
in Trawley’s boat. Did you do the rowing?” 

“No, that would have been too much for Caroline’s 
nerves. Trawley rowed, and oh, it was heavenly. Not 
a breath of wind, and not a cloud, and hardly a ripple. 
By the time we reached St. Ann’s Caroline had begun 
to breathe freely, and had ceased looking fearfully for 
sudden waves that might swallow us up. We spent 
an hour seeing the gardens and the ruins, and then we 
walked across to the other side of the island, where 
we found Trawley and the boat, and we got in and 
rowed away ; and now comes the adventure. The tide 
was high and sea so calm that Trawley thought we 


106 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


might row between the Treloar rocks ; and as we glided 
along, my attention being divided between my duties 
as cockswain and trying to reassure Caroline, who was 
in deadly terror of being crushed by the coming together 
of the rocks, I suppose like the Symplegades of old, 
when I heard a voice calling far above our heads, and 
looking up, espied two figures on the very top of the 
rocks. One of them was standing up and wildly wav- 
ing a handkerchief tied to a stick. 

“They are in trouble, Trawley,” I said; “we must 
see what we can do for them.” 

“The trouble is, miss,” he replied, “that the tide ha’ 
come in sense they left their boat an’ clomb them rocks, 
an’ she’s jist loosed hersel’ an’ walked off; an’ ef we 
hadn’t happened to ha’ come this way, they’d had to 
stay there all night, like as not. There she goes !” and, 
sure enough, there was the little boat dancing lazily 
away in the direction of St. Agatha’s. We had some 
difficulty in mooring alongside the rocks, but we did 
manage it ; and I shouted up to them, making a trumpet 
of my hands, that we would take them into our boat ; 
and the boy, after a short parley with his compan- 
ion ” 

“Also a boy?” 

“No, a girl — dashed down the rocks at such a pace 
that it made one hold one’s breath, and I was thankful 
when he was safely at the bottom. He was such a nice 
boy, about fifteen, with merry blue eyes and light, curly 
hair. “ How good of you,” he cried, as he came to the side 
of the boat, cap in hand. “ I don’t know what would have 
become of us if you hadn’t taken pity on us, that vil- 
lainous little boat has served us such a shabby trick ; 
it’s like Perseus and Andromeda.” Then he told me 
that his sister was so horribly frightened he couldn’t 
persuade her to move; she was sure she should fall into 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


107 


the sea if she did. She got up easily enough, but when 
she looked down she was seized with a dreadful panic, 
and hadn’t stirred from the spot where she sat crouch- 
ing now. “ They will never trust her with me again, ” 
he said dismally ; “ this fright will make her ill, for she 
isn’t very strong, and I shall be in no end of disgrace. 
It’s hard lines, isn’t it?” 

“ I admitted that it was, but I tried to comfort him 
by assuring him that such little frights didn’t make 
girls ill, though when I saw the poor child I wasn’t so 
sure. She was lying curled up, with her head on a 
rock and her eyes shut, and her face was deathly white ; 
hut when her brother spoke to her, and she opened her 
eyes and saw me, a faint color came into her cheeks 
and I was more hopeful. She is wonderfully pretty; 
her eyes are a light, tawny sort of gray, that change 
color with every passing mood ; the eyelashes are very 
long and rather dark, while her hair is tawny again, 
and there is such a quantity of it.” 

“Sounds very ugly,” Lorrie remarked. 

“ Do you think so? The effect is very striking, and 
grows upon one. By the time we parted I had become 
quite fascinated with the changeful charm of her face. 
I couldn’t make up my mind whether the expression 
was more in the eyes or in the mouth.” 

“Well, how did you get her down?” 

“I thought she was going to faint when she first 
stood on her feet, but she really was very good and 
made a desperate effort to be brave; so at last her 
brother took one hand and I the other, and we man- 
aged to get her down and safely into the boat. Poor 
Caroline was the picture of despair, for the wind had 
risen a little and there was some motion, and she de- 
clared the boat had been bobbing about like a cork in a 
pot of boiling water.” 


108 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 

“ What did you do with the ‘nice boy’ and the tawny 
girl; put them ashore somewhere, I suppose? ” 

“Yes, at St. Hilda’s, where they are staying, and 
you never saw two such grateful creatures. I should 
like to know what their friends said to them — how they 
treated their little escapade. I hope they were not hard 
on the nice boy.” 

Whether it was that the sigh with which Sybil’s last 
words were said was the sign of a sudden change of 
mood, or that other things had been in the background 
of her thoughts while she told her adventure and seemed 
to think of nothing less cheerful, did not appear at the 
time. 

The moon had sunk below the horizon, and the stars 
had come, to “ speak silence with their glimmering eyes, 
and wash the dusk with silver.” Even the restless sea 
seemed to feel the hush and mystery of the hour, only 
whispering to the rocks, as it curled softly round their 
feet. So, perhaps, it was not strange if the spell had 
fallen suddenly upon Sybil. 

At length at a slight movement of Lorrie’s she 
started, and stretched out her hand and clasped his, as 
it lay on the arm of his chair. “ Lorrie ” 

There was something in the tone of her voice that 
made Lorrie start in his turn. 

“ It is getting chilly,” he said ; “ I think I shall go in.” 

“Yes, let us go in; it is much cooler than it was; 
we will light the fire and have a talk, while vre get nice 
and warm — shall we?” 

“ If you like,” Lorrie replied listlessly; and they went 
in together. 

The fire was already lighted, and the shaded lamp 
was on the table close by. 

“How nice of Caroline!” Sybil said. “She never 
forgets what fire-worshippers we are.” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


109 


‘‘She’s a good old sort,” Lorrie responded. 

“Now, sit ’ee down here,” Sybil said, as Lorrie stood 
before the fire, drawing him to a chair, wondering if 
her voice sounded as strained and unnatural to him as 
it did to herself. 

At that moment Caroline came with tea. “ A cup of 
tea will be delightful, won’t it?” Sybil said, making 
room for the tray on the table. “ Some nice toast, too. 
Thank you, Caroline.” 

“You’ve been sitting out there in the night air so 
long, I was sure you ought to have something hot,” 
Caroline answered, putting another stick or two on the 
fire and departing. Sybil tried to chat cheerfully while 
they drank their tea, but her effort was a failure, and 
she knew that Lorrie knew it was an effort and a fail- 
ure, and he would not help her. She was vexed with 
herself for being “ so portentous ; ” and with the cer- 
tainty that Lorrie was conscious of an impending some- 
thing, and must naturally prefer to escape it, she was 
not surprised at his getting up, when Caroline came 
to take away the tray, saying, “I shall go to bed; I’m 
getting sleep3^.” 

“ Don’t go yet, dear, please wait a little,” she pleaded. 

Lorrie seated himself again, with rather the air of a 
martyr, and Sybil brought a low chair and sat down 
beside him. She rested her arms on the arm of his 
chair and looked into his face, her own pale and troub- 
led, but full of tenderness. “To-morrow will be ^-our 
birthday, won’t it, dear?” she said softly. 

" I believe so, but can’t we find a more interesting 
topic of conversation than that trifling fact?” 

Sybil’s heart almost failed her, the tone was so repel- 
ling; but she rallied her courage with an effort. 

“Darling, I have something to say, and my not 
having said it before proves how hard it is. It breaks 


110 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN, 


my heart to ” she could not go on for the moment, 

and her head drooped upon the arms that rested on 
Lorrie’s chair, while Lorrie gazed at the fire, his lips 
compressed, and a cold, cynical light in his eyes; and 
yet, deep down in his heart, there was a something that 
would have given Sybil a little hope if she could but 
have known. * 

She slowly lifted her head at length, and as she looked 
into the gloomy face, so changed from the bright, frank 
face of old, at the deep frown between the brows, the 
drooping corners of the handsome mouth, and the eyes 
from which all possibility of warmth and tenderness 
seemed to have vanished forever, she knelt beside him, 
and clasped his hand in hers. 

“Lorrie, how long is it to go on like this?” she 
asked in a stifled voice. 

Lorrie shrugged his shoulders and made a careless 
gesture with his free hand, and for a little time there 
was no sound but the subdued hum and crackling of 
the logs. Lorrie broke the silence in a studiedly indif- 
ferent tone. “ I suppose I know what you mean by 
and I should say, since you ask me, that the probabili- 
ties are that it will go on forever — that is, as long as 
this farce called living holds out. I see no prospect of 
anything else.” 

“No, no, Lorrie; don’t say that — it must not — it 
shall not” 

Her vehemence startled him, and when he, for the first 
time, glanced at her face, its expression startled him 
still more. “ If I knew the words that would make you 
see it as I see it, dear, it would not go on for another 
hour. You could not face such a future as haunts me 
day and night, and has goaded me to hurt you as I know 
I am hurting you now. O Lorrie, dear, think ” 

“Think?” interrupted Lorrie bitterly, “do you im- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Ill 


agine that I have not thought of it all? Do you sup- 
pose I don’t know what it must all come to? has come 
to? You say I couldn’t face the future that haunts 
you. I have faced it. I am facing it.” 

His words sounded like a knell to Sybil, but with an 
earnestness born of his despair, she said, “ Dear Lorrie, 
listen : it is only three little years since you faced the 
future, full of courage, and hope, and ambition ; leave 
those poor little dead years behind you, darling; bury 
them and forget them, and begin this new one as if 
they had never been. Lorrie, you will 9 ” 

“I cannot,” Lorrie answered, dreamily. “It is my 
fate — no man need trouble himself to fight against fate 
— it is an utterly futile struggle.” 

“What is it that is your fate, dear? I don’t quite 
understand,” Sybil said gently. 

“ It was my fate to be the victim of deceit and treach- 
ery, and to lose all that had made life seem worth the 
living, and to have no power to rise above it, and go 
on as if I had lost nothing. 'Others might, but I 
couldn’t. I could onlj- drift on to the bitter end, like 
this.” 

“ That is not fate, dearest,” Sybil answered earnestly. 
“ It may be one’s fate to suffer through the wrong-doing 
of others, or through our own mistakes ; but there is 
no power that dooms us to despair, or that absolves us 
from all claims and obligations when we are wronged, 
however grievously.” 

Lorrie made no reply, and after a pause Sybil said : 
“ If a man were in a boat, in a swift current, and he 
sat with folded arms, making no effort, just letting 
himself drift, it would be his fate to be carried on and 
on to his death ; but why should he not take the oars 
and row to the shore and ‘overcome fate ’?” 

“ If he had lost his oars ” 


112 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ But he hasn’t,” cried Sybil, eagerly ; “ they are there, 
and his arms are strong, and he has only to use them.” 
She paused, but Lorrie did not speak, and after a time, 
she began, almost timidly : “ Lorrie, I have a little plan 
— only a very little one — but it would break the spell, and 
the rest would he so easy. You will hear what it is?” 
she pleaded, as Lorrie made an impatient movement. 

“I suppose it is to go back to London and take 
chambers, and wait for a brief.” 

“No, dear, not that; we may stay here as long as 
you like and he so happy, if only you will begin to 
work ; begin to do the wonderful things with your pen 
that we used to dream about when we were children, 
and that you can do so well, if only you will set about 
it, and you will? ” 

Lorrie’s breath came quickly and his eyes glowed, but 
he shook his head. 

“ Yes, darling, you will. I will not let you say no, 
and I shall give you no peace until you make a begin- 
ning ; then the hideous spell will be broken and all will 
be well.” 

There was a look in the eyes that met hers for an 
instant that gave her a thrill of hope, although Lorrie 
said nothing, and sat looking into the fire, stern and 
still. She held his hand in hers, leaning her cheek 
against it, while she, too, silently watched the flickering 
flames for a time. At length she turned to him with 
wistful eyes. 

“ Lorrie, dear, there is something else you must do. 
You must take me back into your heart. It is dreary 
being shut out in the cold, and I don’t want to stay 
with the dead years.” She said this with a little smile, 
but there were tears in the pleading eyes. “ I must be 
loved and confided in as of old, or I shan’t be satisfied, 
even when everything else is right.” 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


113 


“You are a foolish child,” Lorrie said, putting his 
arm about her, with a quiver in his own voice. “ I 
have been a brute, but you know I love you ; you ought 
never to have doubted that, brute as I was, I wasn’t 
blind.” 

“I couldn’t help it, sometimes,” Sybil said faintly. 
“ But now 5^ou will let it be as it was in the dear old 
days, when I was in your heart, as you have always 
been in mine.” She suddenly stopped, and the tumult 
of feeling that she had kept under control so long broke 
forth in sobs that she could not restrain for a time. 

Lorrie was dismayed, and after vain attempts to 
soothe her, he sat silent. When the sobs ceased, he 
said, “ Have I made you so wretched, while I thought 
you were happy in spite of me?” 

There was something in his tone that sent a chill to 
Sybil’s heart. She could not answer, and after a time 
he went on : “I can’t do anything now to make you 
happy ; you must learn to do without me. It’s of no 
use. I haven’t one particle of hope or courage or en- 
ergy. I feel as if I were under a spell that nothing, 
not even the crack of doom, could break. I can’t even 
wish to make something of my life, and couldn’t, even 
if I had the wish. I am past helping, and my love isn’t 
worth having.” 

“ O Lorrie !” cried Sybil, feeling like one who has 
dreamed that some great difficulty had been happily 
overcome, and wakes to find the burden still weighing 
as heavily as ever. “You deceive yourself, indeed you 
do. You are not willing to live on like this, and you 
have plenty of strength of will to begin something 
better.” 

“No, I have not. It is you who are deceived. 
When I think of beginning again, all the old hopes 
and ambitions come like a troop of vampires to sit on 
8 


114 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


my faint resolutions and smother them. The best thing 
would be for me to — make an end of it all.” 

He leaned back in his chair with his hands clasped 
behind his head and a face full of despair. Sybil felt 
she would gladly have given her own life if that would 
have helped him. What could she do? Was there one 
among the many for whose friendship he used to care, 
who could do for him what she had failed to do — lift 
him out of himself? renew his faith in himself? give 
him hope? One earnest face with steadfast eyes looked 
through the darkness that enveloped them, and a voice 
whose tones were always an inspiration for her seemed 
to thrill through the silence. But she shut her eyes to 
the light, and her ears to the voice ; it was forbidden to 
look or listen. 

How long had she been dreaming when she lifted her 
eyes, and found Lorrie’s fixed earnestly upon her? 

“You do despair of me, at last, Sybil?” he said 
huskily. 

She was too bewildered for a moment to move or 
speak. Then she again knelt before him. “Despair 
of you, dear? Ho! a thousand times no!” she cried, 
almost doubting her identity with the Sybil of the 
minute before. “I have boundless faith in you! You 
know I have, darling !” 

“ You really think I can struggle out of this slough, 
and do and be something yet?” 

“Yes, Lorrie — a thousand times yes!” she cried. 
“ Why, you are out of it already, dear. I see deliver- 
ance in your eyes.” She wondered why she had for a 
moment despaired. She did not understand that, in 
casting off his burden, he had laid it upon her ; that 
when a brave soul essays to rescue a weak one from 
the Slough of Despond, the brave one may be over- 
whelmed for the moment. She did not stop to analyze 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


115 


or question, but set herself to inspire Lorrie with the 
courage and hope that had so suddenly and strangely 
filled her own heart. And although he was by no 
means sanguine as to the future, yet when they parted 
for the night — what little of it was left — Sybil felt as if 
the story of those three years must be a long, sad dream, 
and the reality a happy one. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


I go to prove my soul. 

— Br aiming . 

I have found a grassy niche 
Hollowed in a seaside hill. 

— Mrs. Browning. 

1 WE early summer dawn was looking in at Sybil’s 
windows when she went to bed. She had drawn 
up the blinds and lay for some time watching the 
wreaths of palest rose floating through a sky of palest 
blue, in a state of dreamy content such as she had not 
known for years. 

At length she fell asleep, and as the watchful Caro- 
line knew well what time she came upstairs and kept 
guard over her slumbers, she slept on without so much 
as a change of position until past ten o’clock. When 
at last her eyes opened, the first vague impression of a 
weight lifted was followed by a rush of happiness that 
seemed to flood her heart, like the sunshine in which 
land and sea were bathed. She lay motionless for some 
minutes, as if there were nothing to do but bask in the 
brightness within and without. Then, with a sudden, 
joyful impatience to see Lorrie, and make sure that it 
was not all ’a dream, she hastened to dress, planning 
the while for the celebration of the day with the eager- 
ness of a child. She felt that he would delight now in 
going to some of their old haunts as much as in the old 
days. 


116 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


117 


When Caroline came for the dozenth time to listen at 
her door for signs of her being awake, she could hardly 
believe her ears, for a blithe little song was being sung. 
“ It’s like the carolling of a bird,” she said to herself as 
she hurried away, wondering but joyful, to see after 
the dainty breakfast she had in mind. Sybil found it 
quite ready for her when she went down ; but what she 
saw first of all was a note beside her plate from Lorrie. 
Caroline came in at the same moment, and caught the 
look in her eyes as she slowly unfolded the twisted half 
sheet. 

“ Mr. Lorrie was up early this morning, miss, for a 
wonder, ” she said , “ and waited about to see you ; but 
at last he said he wouldn’t wait any longer, for he 
wanted to go for a walk or a row; and so he wrote that, 
and away he went.” 

Caroline’s explanation gave Sybil courage to read 
the note : 

Dear Sybil — Don’t think me a wretch for going oif like this. 
I am afraid I was selfish enough to want to come and knock 
you up, but Caroline wouldn’t let me, and I write this to tell 
you that I am taking myself off for the day to get my head 
settled and get to know my new self a little better — to see, 
in fact, whether it is a new self. If I stay with you, I shall 
take your view of me, which is too sanguine. There never Avas 
a sister like you since the world was rolled into space, and 
if I come to something after all, it will be all your doing, bless 
you ! I shall be back by tea-time, and then we can talk things 
over, and see what I am fit for. 

Your good-for-naught, but loving 

Lorrie. 

Sybil could not at once rally from her disappointment, 
though Lorrie’s note was so reassuring; but at length 
she was able to persuade herself that it was only nat- 
ural that he should feel the need of a little solitude. 
“He must feel rather dazed, poor boy,” she thought, 


118 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


and she decided that nothing could make the day pass 
so quickly for herself as going to her favorite after- 
noon haunt among the rocks with a book. 

“You will be back to lunch, won’t you, Miss Sybil?” 
Caroline asked, as she opened the garden gate and shut 
it quickly after her, to prevent the dogs following. 

“ How could I eat any lunch after breakfasting at 
eleven o’clock?” Sybil asked, resting her arms on the 
little gate, and smiling across at Caroline’s troubled 
face. 

“ I don’t call it breakfasting when you eat literally 
nothing, only drink a part of a cup of tea,” was the 
grave reply. “I’ve put some sandwiches in the bag, 
and I do hope you won’t bring them back, nor give 
them to the birds. I shall have you ill, if you go on 
like this.” 

“Like this?” Sybil repeated, her voice a little tremu- 
lous while she smiled. 

“Sitting up nearly the whole night, and eating no 
breakfast, and taking things so to heart. I can’t bear 
to see it,” and Caroline would have turned hastily 
away, but Sybil stopped her, laying her hand affection- 
ately on the faithful one that rested upon the gate. 

“I ought to have told you before, Nursey, dear,” she 
said, “ that I am happier to-day than I have been for 
years, and you won’t need to worry about us any more. 
We shall stay here a little while longer, and then go 
home to dear St. Austells, to be as happy as these sum- 
mer days are sweet. Aren’t you glad, Hursey?” 

“Glad? ” Caroline could not say one other word, but 
hurried away to shed her thankful tears in secret, while 
Sybil Walked slowly through the gay little garden — for 
a wonder hardly noticing the flowers of which she was 
so fond — that being the shortest way to “The Niche.” 

It was a tiny green nook, hidden away among the 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


119 


cliffs, “opening all to the wide sea.” The encircling 
rocks looked for all the world as if, ages ago, the giants 
had amused themselves by gathering odds and ends of 
ruined temples from all countries under the sun, and 
piling them here in wild confusion, making such a 
much in little, in the way of rocky wonders, as would 
seem incredible in the telling, while lichens and mosses 
had done their best to soften and beautify and redeem 
the wild work of the giants. 

The path that led to Sybil’s retreat — if that can be 
called a path which was a mere shelf, where any one a 
whit less stead y-headed and sure-footed than Sybil 
would never have dreamed of venturing, lay across the 
slanting face of a great bastion of granite for a few 
yards ; then it widened out into a rough, stony slope 
for a few feet ; and at length a rather steep ascent ended 
in something very like a gateway — a narrow opening 
with a granite shaft on the outer edge, so upright and 
symmetrical that it might have been roughly hewn, 
while a great saurian-like creature kept guard on the 
other side. “ The Niche” was so shut in by towering 
rocks that only the wildest winds could find it, though 
it looked out toward the west, over limitless sea. 

Sybil’s nerves certainly were a little unstrung to-day, 
for she hesitated and almost shuddered when she came 
to the shelf ; and when she stood in the tiny, green in- 
closure, and glanced out over the wide waters, blue and 
sunny as they were, she seated herself hurriedly at the 
farther side, and leaned against the moss and lichens 
that made a soft cushion at her back, pale and with 
closed eyes. “ It is too much of a good thing — three 
thousand miles of sea?” she said. “ But what folly !” 
she added quickly, sitting up and looking bravely out 
of her nest. “ Even Don wouldn’t know me like this ! 
I won’t turn from one of my dearest friends, just be- 


120 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


cause I feel a little bit upset,” and she took the sand- 
wiches from her hag, thinking it might really he because 
she had eaten nothing that she was “ so foolirh. ” When 
she had finished the sandwiches she took from the bag a 
brown paper parcel and opened it on her lap, disclosing 
a pint or so of shrimps. Then she began to whistle — the 
sweetest, clearest whistling that was ever heard, made 
up of bird -like trills and wild cadences. Soon there 
was the whirring sound of wings overhead, and some- 
thing very like the flashing of silver in the sunlight 
followed, as one, two, three, five gulls came sailing 
over the rocky heights, one by one, and, after various 
hesitations and advancings and retreatings, alighted at 
Sybil’s feet. 

What a picture the scene would have made if there 
had been an artist at hand to paint it, but there was 
not; Sybil and the birds had it all to themselves. With 
a slow, cautious movement Sybil scattered the shrimps 
on the gravel, and what a scrimmage there was among 
the silver- wings ; how each struggled to get more than 
his share of the tid-bits, and how greedily they all gob- 
bled them up. One of them, tamer and perhaps greed- 
ier than the rest, took a shrimp from Sybil’s hand ; but 
his confidence was not so complete as to prevent his 
sharply pecking the delicate palm, in his haste to make 
sure of his prize and escape possible capture. 

Sybil sat leaning forward, her arms resting on her 
knees, watching her visitors as they rapidly made away 
with the feast, when a faint shout came to her ear from 
the distance. Her startled movement caused a fright- 
ened flutter among the birds, and in a moment they 
were up and away, their wings flashing in the sunshine 
above the sea. Sybil then went to the edge of the little 
plateau and looked out eagerly. Could it be Lorrie 
shouting to her? A moment later, her eje was caught 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


121 


by the flutter of something white in the distance, and 
on the chance that the signal was meant for her, she 
slowly waved her handkerchief in return. She was 
rewarded by an energetic flourish that was plainly in- 
tended as a token of satisfaction. So it was Lorrie and 
he had taken to his oars again, and the boat was swiftly 
coming toward her. He had not lost his skill in row- 
ing, she thought gladly. But when the boat was near 
enough for her to recognize the oarsman, she saw that 
it was not Lorrie, but her acquaintance of yesterday, 
‘‘the nice boy.” 

As he came within what seemed speaking distance, 
he rested on his oars and shouted something to her, of 
which she could not catch a single word, for just there 
the rocks always provoked the sea to anger by their 
deflant mien, and a noisy strife was always going on 
between them, even when elsewhere peace prevailed. 
Sybil shook her head with a gesture of despair. Then 
began a series of exaggerated signs, which Sybil inter- 
preted thus : “ May I fasten my boat somewhere down 
here, and come up the rocks to you?” She nodded 
assent, explaining by signs that it was necessary to 
make a wide circuit round the point and come up from 
the other side, and then the oars were vigorously plied 
again. 

Sybil stood watching until the boat had rounded the 
point, admiring the ease and skill with which the oars 
were handled, then seated herself on the foot of the 
saurian to await her visitor, thinking how pleasant it 
was to see “ the nice boy ” so soon and unexpectedly, 
but wondering where Lorrie was all this time. 

It was not very long before she heard the clatter of 
stones that the boy set flying, as he came at what she 
felt sure was break-neck speed, having seen him descend 
Treloar the previous day ; and she sent a most musical 


122 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


jodel down to meet him. He answered it with a most 
unmusical imitation, at which they both laughed mer- 
rily. Two minutes later his bright face, crimson with 
the exertion of rowing and climbing, appeared at the 
other side of the granite slab. He stopped short when 
he saw Sybil, and took in the fact that crossing that 
narrowest of paths was the only way to get to her. 

“Would you mind letting me see your wings?” he 
called across to her. 

“Shall I lend them to you?” she called back. At 
that he strode along the shelf at such a pace that she 
called again, “ Oh, be careful !” and was thankful when 
he stood beside her. 

“ Oh, but this is jolly ! what luck that I should have 
discovered you up in this cranny !” 

“Yes, indeed; but do tell me, how is your sister? 
none the worse for her fright yesterday, I hope. ” 

“ Oh, she’s all right, thanks, only they’re making her 
keep quiet to-day ; an ounce of prevention, you know. ” 

“ Then they were not very hard upon you, were they?” 

“ Oh, no ; I got a lecture or two for being so venture- 
some and not being satisfied to risk my own neck, but 
must risk Tiny’s too; but they couldn’t make much out 
of it, when there was no harm done, and when the little 
villain of a boat turned up in the evening. ” 

. “Oh, did it really?” 

“Yes, one of the fishermen found her wandering 
about, and brought her home ; that’s the very one down 
below, safely fastened this time. But however did you 
find this jolly little place? You must be a perfect 
chamois at climbing.” 

“ I found it by chance one day while I was prowling 
about these wonderful rocks. I came upon that little 
ledge, and thought it looked promising over here. But 
how did you find me 9 You were so far off when I first 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


123 


saw the waving handkerchief I shouldn’t think you 
could have seen me, unless you had known just where 
to look, even with your glass.” 

“ That’s where the luck comes in. But just you try 
this glass ; you could almost see America with it. The 
governor gave it me last Christmas, and it never did 
me a better turn than showing me you up here. I was 
looking at the rocks, thinking what rum things they 
were, when I saw something moving — white and 
shiny ” 

“The sea-gulls,” Sybil suggested. 

“Yes. I soon made out what they were, and I 
watched until I saw them settle, and then I espied you. 
I never was so astonished. I wonder I didn’t faint and 
tumble into the water. I began to think 1 had made the 
acquaintance of a real live Lorelei, and wondered what 
Tiny would say when I told her who had rescued her 
yesterday. You did look like her, ^die schonste Jung- 
f rauj and I shouldn’t have been a bit surprised to hear 
the Ujeivaltige Melodei ; ’ only you ought to be called 
something that means the ‘guardian angel of the rocks 
and waves.’ But what were the gulls doing here? 
They seemed on uncommonly friendly terms with you.” 

“We are friends in a way, though I am afraid they 
only care for what I give them.” 

“Were you feeding them?” 

“Yes. I always bring a few shrimps or prawns for 
them.” • 

“ How do they know when shrimps are on hand? Do 
they watch for you on certain days? I shouldn’t have 
given them credit for that much sense. ” 

“ I whistle for them. One day, almost the first time 
I came, I was whistling to please myself, and pretty 
soon two or three gulls came and perched on the rocks, 
high up, and peered down at me. When I moved of 


124 


SYBIL TRE\^^LLIAN. 


course they flew away, but I put some bits of sandwich 
where they could easily get at them, and then I whistled 
again ; and after a while they came back, and as I kept 
perfectly still, only whistling softly, they gathered 
courage to come down and eat the bits, and now they 
always come to see what I’ve got for them.” 

“Well! it’s all like a story out of Hans Andersen. 
I’d give my head to get Tiny up here. But I’m afraid 
she’d shy desperately at crossing the big rock' — don’t 
you expect she would?” 

“Indeed I do,” Sybil responded; “it is much more 
fearsome than what she did yesterday.” 

“Yes, it’s a great deal worse. But I want to bring 
her to see you to-morrow, anyhow, if I may — to pay a 
formal call, you know, and thank you properly for your 
kindness to two young madcaps ; that is Avhat my aunt 
said we were to do. She would come herself, but you 
see she’s an invalid, and my uncle is away. What 
would they say if they knew where I am at this mo- 
ment! We may come, mayn’t we?” 

“Yes, indeed! I should be so pleased to see your 
sister again. But what do you think of going home 
with me now, so that you will know how to And us 
to-morrow?” 

“I should be delighted.” 

“ I am afraid I must go, as my brother will be back 
by tea-time, and will expect to And me.” 

“ Thanks ; I shall like to come with you immensely, 
but what about my boat?” 

“ Oh, after tea we will take you by another way to 
the place where she is fastened, and then we can show 
you where to land when you come to-morrow.” 

“Thanks;., how splendidly you do arrange things! 
Do let me carry those traps,” and he took possession of 
Sybil’s bag and book. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


125 


“ You won’t tell anybody but your sister about the 
Lorelei’s Nest, will you?” Sybil said laughingly, as 
they began their descent. “ I want to keep its existence 
a deadly secret.” 

“ Trust me, ” cried the nice boy ; and he added, stop- 
ping short, with an extra flush on his bright face, “ I 
only hope you don’t mind my having found it out?” 

“ Nothing could be nicer than your having found it 
and me to-day, ” Sybil replied, and they went on down 
the rocks. 


CHAPTER XX. 


I liave done that I have done, be it worse or be it better. 


— Mrs. Browning. 


S they were walking through the garden, Sybil 



A turned to her companion with a smile : “ Do you 
know, she said, “when I told my brother of our ad- 
venture yesterday, I called you the ‘nice boy,’ and the 
‘nice boy’s sister,’ because ” 

“ Did you really, though? I don’t believe I was ever 
called a ‘nice boy’ before.” 

“ I am sure you have been, very often; but when my 
brother asked me if the ‘nice boy ’ and his sister had no 
name, I was obliged to say I supposed they had, but I 
didn’t know what it was.” 

“ Oh, I see. How stupid of me not to have told you 
who we are. Xot that I am very sorry, either, for if I 
had you wouldn’t have called me ‘the nice boy.’ But 
now I will introduce myself properly. My name is not 
Xorval, and my father doesn’t tend his flocks on the 
Grampian Hills, but I am Clive Graham, late of La- 
hore, India, and now of Campden Hill, London.” 

It was fortunate that the broad rim of Sybil’s hat 
hid her face for the moment, for its sudden change of 
expression would have puzzled Clive greatly ; and if he 
had known that the mention of his name gave her a 
shock, it would have puzzled him still more. 

“My sister’s name is Lynette,” Clive went on, “but 
I always call her Tiny, and she calls me that, too. We 


126 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAK 


m 

have called you Hera, because she was always helping 
people out of scrapes ; but now you will tell me your 
real name, won’t you?” 

While Clive had been speaking, Sybil was asking 
herself how she could possibly have run the risk of 
inviting strangers to meet Lorrie, whose name, even, 
she did not know, and casting about to see whether 
there was any way of escape from the dilemma. Her 
face was still flushed, as she answered : “ Our name is 
Trevyllian — Lorrance and Sybil Trevyllian.” 

“Oh, I have heard of you,” cried Clive eagerly. 
“You know the Hargreaves, don’t you?” 

“ Yes, very well, though we have seen nothing of 
them for a long time.” 

“But you have heard of us, haven’t you? and know 
that we are second cousins to Norman and Nixie?” 

“ Oh yes, I know quite well. I have often heard 
them speak of you. I have even seen you, when you 
were ver}^ little. I almost wonder now that I didn’t 
recognize you, ” she added, with smiling scrutiny. 

“Jove! Wonders will never cease, will they? To 
think of our meeting as strangers, and getting to be 
such good friends, and then finding out that we have 
known each other all our lives. It is jolly, isn’t it?” 

They emerged from the garden at the moment, and 
the three dogs were on hand to make frantic demonstra- 
tions of joy at Sybil’s return, so that she was not obliged 
to say whether it was jolly or not. 

“We won’t wait tea for Mr. Lorrie,” she said to 
Caroline, when, to her relief, she found that Lorrie had 
not returned. “ It may be some time before he comes 
in. And Mr. Graham has to row back to St. Hilda’s.” 

Their talk flowed on merrily over their tea, in spite 
of Sybil’s undercurrent of uneasy thoughts. 

“ Have they good news of Lord and Lady Netherby?” 


128 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


she asked, when Clive had made some passing reference 
to Nixie. 

“ I’m pretty sure they have, though it’s quite a month 
since I have seen any of them. I heard one or two of 
Cousin Nixie’s letters from the Sandwich Islands, all 
about those great volcanoes, you know. They’ve had 
a stunning trip; seen and done no end of things. They 
were in Borneo, the last I heard of them, and coming 
home this summer or autumn. Tiny and I are to spend 
the Christmas holidays with them at their place up 
north somewhere.” 

“The Abbey, in Northumberland, isn’t it?” 

“Yes, I believe it is. “Shall you be going back to 
London soon?” 

“I hardly know, but I think we shall be here for 
some weeks yet,” Sybil answered rather absently, for 
she fancied she heard Lorrie’s voice calling to the dogs 
in the distance. 

“ Do you think it’s nice for cousins to marry each 
other. Miss Trevy Ilian?” Clive broke a brief silence 
with this question. 

“ I never thought much about it,” Sybil replied, much 
amused. “ I should think it was nicer not to marry 
one’s cousin if some one else would do as well ; but I 
believe there are plenty of happy marriages of that sort.” 

“Well, I hate the notion. It’s mixing up relation- 
ship, and I think cousins ought to stay cousins, and 
not go turning into lovers, and then into husband and 
wife ; and if I should write a chapter on the subject it 
would be like that one in Punch about marrying at all, 
‘Don’t.’ You are laughing at me for thinking of such 
things, being only a boy, but — ” Clive hesitated — “ I 
don’t suppose I ought to peach on the mater and 
Lady Sara, but Tiny and I happen to know that they 
have put their heads together to make a match between 


SYBIL TltEVYLLIAN. 


129 


Cousin Norman and Tiny. Of course they don’t sus- 
pect such a thing as our knowing anything about it ; 
but Celeste, Lady Sara’s maid, told Janet, Tiny’s maid. 
Celeste overheard them talking about it one day, and 
Janet told Tiny, and of ct)urse Tiny told me. Now we 
are awfully fond of Cousin Norman — he’s an awfully 
good sort; but Tiny thinks as I do, that it isn’t worth 
while to lose a cousin for the sake of getting a husband, 
when you can just as well have both. Don’t you think 
so too?” 

“ It depends on whether they turn into lovers, or not, 
I should think. If they do — what more is there to be 
said?” 

“Well, of course I can only speak for Tiny. I don’t 
know how Norman feels about it; he may be over head 
and heels in love with her for all I know, and we 
shouldn’t like to have him disappointed if he’d set his 
heart on marrying her. I’d defy anybody to find out 
what he wants until he is ready to tell you; and I’m 
sure of another thing, that he isn’t going to marry his 
cousin, nor any other girl, just because somebody else 
wants him to. Do you think he’s in the least likely to 
marry to please his mother?” 

“ I should hardly think he is.” 

“ Anyhow, he wouldn’t want to marry Tiny if she 
told him she’d rather not; so we needn’t bother our 
heads about it, as I’ve always been telling her.” 

Sybil made no response to this comfortable conclusion 
of the whole matter; and after a pause Clive asked, 
“Have you any sisters. Miss Trevy Ilian? or more than 
one brother?” 

“No, I have only Lorrie, and he has only me.” 

“Well, now, isn’t it odd that there should be three 
pairs of us? You and your brother, Norman and Nixie, 
and Tiny and me?” 

9 


13C 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ It is rather curious,” Sybil answered, “ but I thought 
you had brothers, and other sisters besides Lynette.” 

“ Oh, of course ! there’s a crowd of youngsters, three 
boys and two girls, varying from a few months to eight 
or nine years ; but you see. Tiny and I are so much older 
— grown up, in fact — while they are mere babies ; so 
there is a pair of us, as there are of you and the Har- 
greaves.” 

“Yes, I see,” Sybil said, as Caroline came to ask if 
she should make some fresh tea for Mr. Lorrie; he had 
just come in and gone to his room. 

“Yes, and tell him that Mr. Clive Graham is here — 
the young gentleman whose acquaintance I made yes- 
terday.” 

“I did tell him, miss,” Caroline replied, and she de- 
parted with the tea-pot and the muffin dish. 


CHAPTER XXl. 


Vanish the dream ! Vanish the idle fear f 

— Longfeltoio. 

HEN Sybil heard Lorrie’s door open and his step 



TV on the stairs, she was almost ready to fly from 
the room, shutting poor Clive in and herself outside. 
The reality was far less trying than her fears ; in fact, 
it was not trying at all, and she grew ashamed of her 
fears, forgetting that Lorrie had been doing his best to 
make her afraid of her own shadow, where he was con- 
cerned, for three long years. 

He came in looking flushed, as if he had been exert- 
ing himself in the hot sun ; not that he really had — he 
had only been lazily enjoying the strange sense of de- 
liverance that possessed him, and dreaming of possible 
futures. He greeted Clive cordially, and gave an ac- 
count of how he had spent the day ; how he had basked 
in the sunshine on the rocks by the sea, enjoying the 
sensation of being slowly turned into Zweibacken^ until 
he began to feel the gnawings of hunger ; and how a 
kind flshwife had supplied him with all the milk he 
could drink, and all the bread and butter he could eat ; 
and how, since she utterly refused to take any payment 
in money, he had been glad to recompense her, later 
on, by rescuing her son and heir from a watery grave. 
“She seemed to know who I was,” he said to Sybil. 
“ The cottage was the nice little one, with the pretty 
garden and porch, nearest the sands.” 


131 


132 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“Oh, Trawley’s,” cried Sybil, “and it must have 
been little Josey that you rescued.” 

“That was the young gentleman’s name,” Lorrie re- 
turned. “ He had fallen into the sea, off a rock where 
he had been disporting himself like a young merman, 
and I fished him out with a boat-hook that happened 
to be handy, and delivered him, all dripping as he was 
and roaring with fright, to his grateful mother.” 

“Poor Esther! I am sure she was grateful. She 
has only Josey left, of seven children.” 

Lorrie and Clive found a great deal to talk about ; 
and as Sybil listened to, rather than joined in, the 
conversation, she wondered how long it really was 
since she had heard her brother’s hearty laugh, and 
seen him in the act of winning a friend, as he was 
winning Clive, by the charm of his face and voice. 
Clive was, indeed, so fascinated by his new friends 
that he had been quite oblivious of the passage of time, 
and had not once thought of those who would be ex- 
pecting him back and wondering what had become of 
him, when Caroline came to lay the cloth for dinner. 

Sybil and Lorrie walked with Clive to the Cove, 
where his boat was moored, and on the way Sybil told 
Lorrie of the promised visit from Clive and his sister, 
the next day. Lorrie expressed himself as delighted at 
the prospect of making the acquaintance of Miss Gra- 
ham, and seeing Clive again. “Why not come to 
lunch?” he asked. 

“Why not, indeed?” exclaimed Sybil eagerly; “do 
you think you could?” 

“I’m sure we could,” replied Clive, flushing with 
pleasure ; “ thank you so much ! Tiny will be delighted, 
as I am.” 

“You don’t think your friends will consider us rash 
and grasping?” Sybil said, with an uncomfortable mis- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


133 


giving that they might well object to such a visit on 
the score of its unconventionality. 

“No, indeed!” replied Clive. “My aunt is always 
lamenting that it is so dull for us, because, you see, 
she is a great invalid and can’t go about herself, and 
can’t have people to stay, to make it lively for us; and 
my uncle is away a good deal. When the pater and 
mater went to Norway we were sent here — for safe keep- 
ing, you know ; the little chaps are all staying at Bury 
St. Edmunds. So you see my aunt will jump at the 
chance of our having a little fun, especially when she 
hears who our new friends are ; that they are, in fact, 
old ones.” 

“All right, then,” said Lorrie; “if you can be here 
in good time, say, by half-past twelve, we might show 
you some of the wonders of St. Clements after lunch, 
if you have not seen them all.” 

“No, indeed we haven’t.” 

“Then will you give my compliments to your aunt,” 
said Sybil, “ and ask her if she will be so good as to 
trust your sister and you to us for the afternoon? and 
tell your sister how pleased we shall be to have her 
come?” 

“You had better land here,” Lorrie said, as they 
parted, “ and we will be here to meet you at half-past 
twelve. ” 

When Clive’s swift strokes had carried him half 
way to St. Hilda’s, Lorrie and Sybil turned toward 
home. 

“Heisanice boy, isn’t he?” demanded Sybil; and 
Lorrie replied heartily, if a little absently, “Very.” 

“ Only think of his espying me in my niche up in the 
rocks ! I thought it must be you, when 1 heard him 
shouting to me from far off on the water. It was pleas- 
ant to see him again; though I was disappointed to 


134 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


find it wasn’t you.” Sybil rested her hand affection- 
ately on Lorrie’s arm, as they walked along the sands, 
and Lorrie laid his hand over hers, for the moment. 

“ What is the sister like?” he asked suddenly. 

“Why, I described her to you last night, didn’t I?” 
Sybil replied. 

“You said she had red hair and eyes, or something 
like it, and I suppose she has freckles — they generally 
go together.” 

“Red hair and eyes!” cried Sybil, laughing; “I said 
they were tawny, which is quite another matter ; and 
as to freckles, her skin is as fair and smooth as a rose- 
leaf.” 

“She’s big and tall, I suppose; cowardly women 
generally are.” 

“ She is neither tall nor big nor cowardly,” Sybil de- 
clared indignantly. “ She is about the medium height, 
and has a slight, girlish figure ; and she has the dearest 
little mouth ” 

“ I know what sort of a creature it is that has the 
dearest little mouth,” interrupted Lorrie; “a little 
mouth is hateful to gods and men.” 

“Well, you will see her to-morrow, and if you don’t 
say she is charming I shall think you are very hard to 
please.” 

They had walked on in silence for a minute or two, 
when Lorrie asked, “ What was Clive telling you about 
his sister’s marrying Norman Hargreave?” 

Sybil gazed at him in speechless, amazement ; and he 
felt obliged to explain. “ I stopped as I came by the 
window, hearing a strange voice, and the blind being 
down I could safely eavesdrop. Of course I didn’t 
know to whom the strange voice belonged, until Caro- 
line told me ; that lessened the mystery somewhat, but 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 135 

I am still devoured with curiosity ; and as you can’t 
have any deadly secrets with such a new acquaintance, 
you won’t mind telling me what Lady Sara Hargreave 
is up to now.” 

There was something in Lorrie’s tone and manner 
that gave Sybil a feeling of disappointment — such as one 
has when, thinking a dear friend has recovered from a 
serious illness, one hears that he has had a relapse, or 
that some dangerous symptom still lingers. But she 
answered quietly : “ Clive has some boyish fancy about 
a match for his sister, in which Lady Sara and his 
mother are supposed to be interested. But I don’t im- 
agine there is much in it, since it came through Lady 
Sara’s and Miss Graham’s maids.” 

“ I don’t believe it is merely a boyish notion at all,” 
Lorrie declared, “ even if it did come through two maids. 
Why should you imagine that Lady Sara is not at her 
old tricks? It doesn’t matter to her whether she makes 
or mars people’s lives, so that she can arrange them to 
suit her own purpose; but Lady Netherby blesses her 
for her interference in her behalf, and this tawny girl 
might be equally grateful for her kind offices — suppos- 
ing always that she schemed for her successfully, as 
well.” 

During the years that had followed the coming of the 
fatal letters from Como, Nixie’s name had never once 
been spoken between the brother and sister — not even 
the night before, in their long talk. The thought of 
Nixie had always brought with it, to Sybil’s mind, a 
sense of infinite pity for Lorrie, growing out of the 
belief that his love for her was deep and abiding, and 
that she was enshrined in a sorrowing tenderness, too 
sacred for even a sister’s gentle touch. But now she 
had heard him speak of her in cold, unfaltering tones. 


136 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


that carried the conviction, with a shock, that his love 
was dead. She steadfastly shut away the indignant 
protest against the dire injustice of it all that pressed 
for a hearing, assuring herself vehemently that it was 
better so, for now he might be really happy once more. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


I doubt not the flowers of that garden sweet 
Eejoiced in the sound of her gentle feet ; 

I doubt not they felt the spirit that came 
From her glowing fingers through all their frame. 

— Shelley. 

S YBIL slept soundly, yet waked with a vague sense 
that something had gone wrong. “I seem to 
have lost the faculty of being happy, ” she said to her- 
self ; “ I deserve not to be happy if I can’t he more rea- 
sonable. Why should I have such rigid notions as to 
what poor Lorrie is to say and feel?” 

Just as she was dressed a continuous rat-a-tat came 
at her door. On opening it, she found Lorrie standing 
outside, looking handsome and dehonnair; and as they 
went down together, with his arm thrown affectionately 
round her shoulders, and her hand clinging to his, she 
thought no more about being happy, for she was happy. 

“ What a jolly day for the visit !” Lorrie remarked, 
as they paused to look from the window at the top of 
the stairs. 

“Simply perfect, isn’t it!” Sybil responded. 

“Just see that cat!” Lorrie exclaimed, as they came 
in view of an immense tabby Persian, perched on the 
top of the old Dutch clock that stood in the little hall. 

“ That’s where Barty posts himself every morning to 
watch for me,” Sybil said. “Come down, Barty, dear; 
come and have some breakfast. You’ve been to the 

137 


138 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


kitchen, I haven’t a doubt, and heard that there is to 
be curry, or some other favorite dish. Isn’t it odd 
that he should be so fond of curry, when he wouldn’t 
eat anything with a grain of pepper in it if he were 
starving?” 

Barty was short for Bartolemeo Colleoni. .Lorrie de- 
clared that his name would be the death of him, but 
there was no lack of life in him at present; at Sybil’s 
summons, he leaped to the floor from his high perch, 
landing like a bit of down — there was so much more 
fluff than anything more substantial about him — and 
walked sedately before them into the breakfast-room. 
But once there, he was suddenly transformed into the 
semblance of a little wild beast ; his tail bristled, his 
ears went back and his back went up like a camel’s; 
he showed all his teeth, and growled and spit in a fear- 
ful manner. 

“Look,” cried Lorrie, laughing and pointing to the 
corner of the room on which Barty ’s flery eyes were 
fixed. 

“Oh, don’t laugh, Lorrie,” said Sybil; “this is very 
serious. Dear Don! I am surprised at you, and no 
wonder Barty is shocked. Whatever will Caroline 
say?” 

Caroline’s one failing, as Sybil would have said, was 
her dislike for poor Don Quixote, the French poodle. 
It was a real grief to her that she could not love him, 
but since he had been grown up, so big and black, all 
her efforts only enabled her to endure him ; not that she 
ever failed in kindness ; it was only the intuition that 
tells every dog who is and who is not a friend of dogs, 
that made Don so conscious of her disapproval of his 
existence. He had been given to Sybil by her father 
when he was very little, and she had trained him, and 
taught him all he knew, which was a great deal ; Caro- 


SYBIL TREVYLLlAN. 


139 


line, even, was obliged to admit that he could do every- 
thing but talk; in fact, she felt that he was so human 
as to be quite unnatural. In the small rooms of their 
present quarters he seemed to take up every inch of 
space, she said, and Sybil yielded to her weakness, it 
being her only one, and explained to Don that while 
they were there he must be contented to stay outside ; 
and he had submitted with what grace he could. But 
this morning he had been tempted beyond all power of 
resistance by the wide-open windows and doors, and 
had stationed himself boldly where he could command 
a view of the stairs. However, when he heard Sybil’s 
voice, he had been overcome with shame and remorse, 
and had betaken himself to the corner, where Barty 
espied him ; and there he stood on end, his long tufted 
tail tucked under him, and his face hidden in the corner 
against the wall. Barty was on the most cordial terms 
with Sancho and Bobbie, the Skye and Dandy Dinmont, 
but his feeling for poor Don can only be described as 
one of bitter animosity. This was, perhaps, the one 
bond of sympathy between Barty and Caroline. 

“ Come here, Don, ” Sybil said gravely, seating her- 
self ; “ come and tell me how it happened. Why are 
you disobedient this morning?” 

Don came down heavily on all fours, and slowly ap- 
proached Sybil with drooping head and tail, while Barty 
bristled with unabated indignation. He even made a 
movement as if meditating an attack on his crestfallen 
enemy; but Sybil said, “No, Barty, this is no affair of 
yours ; you will be sent away yourself if you interfere. 
Poor old Don, come to me; I shan’t scold you.” 

Don brightened up a little, and laid his black nose 
and a paw on Sybil’s knee with every sign of contrition 
and readiness to promise never to disobey again ; while 
Lorrie stood by, watching the scene with much amuse- 


140 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ment. Barty, his bristles gradually subsiding, finally 
settled himself in his usual place by the breakfast- 
table. 

“Now, Don dear,” Sybil said, when they had held a 
whispered conversation on the subject of his disobedi- 
ence; “I know you won’t do it again, and you had 
better hurry away before Caroline comes and finds you 
here — poor boy !” 

At the mention of Caroline, Don turned and trotted 
out of the room and out of the house. His spirits were 
not sufficiently restored to admit of his taking any no- 
tice of Bobbie and Sancho, who stood with their fore- 
paws on the door-sill, not venturing to enter. They 
watched him as he slowly disappeared round the corner 
of the house ; hut seeming to conclude that there was 
nothing to be gained by following him, they returned 
to the doorway to wait for Sybil. 

“ Are you going to give us a very swell lunch to- 
day?” Lorrie asked of Caroline, when she brought in 
breakfast, just after Don had departed. 

“ Caroline doesn’t know that we are going to have 
visitors,” Sybil said — “Mr. Graham and his sister, 
Caroline.” 

“ I think we can manage something nice, miss. I’ll 
speak with cook and see what she says.” 

“I would back Caroline against all the Fobellian 
cooks to get up a lunch fit to set before the queen,” de- 
clared Lorrie, and Caroline, went away with a gleam in 
her eyes that was very like tears. “ It sounded so nat- 
ural,” she said to herself, “and he looked so handsome. 
I could almost have forgotten that he was twenty-six 
years old yesterday, and kissed him, as if he’d been the 
little child I nursed — bless him ! and bless her! it’s all 
her doing, with her angelic patience and sweetness. 
She’s the crown jewel of the world, that she is !” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


141 


Lorrie and Sybil lingered over their breakfast, dis- 
cussing plans for the entertainment of their visitors. 

“We will take them to the Lover’s Vale first,” said 
Sybil, “ it is so pretty, and there are no steep rocks to 
frighten the nice girl.” 

“ I object to your calling her the ‘nice girl’ before I 
see her,” protested Lorrie; “Clive is nice, but I don’t 
feel at all sanguine as to the tawny sister.” 

“Very well — you will soon see for yourself,” Sybil 
returned. “ I must get some fiowers to fill those funny 
old vases and for the lunch- table. Come with me into 
the garden and hold the basket. There’s a dear.” 

“All right, just wait till I get my pipe,” Lorrie re- 
sponded ; and when Sybil came, with her scissors and 
basket, they went out together. 

Sancho and Bobbie were beginning to lose all patience, 
and had been giving vent to their feelings in sharp 
barks of remonstrance, and now were frantic with joy 
at their appearance. “ Poor little chaps, ” Sybil said, 
patting them ; “ you know you can’t go into the garden, 
you’d do too much mischief; but we will go first and 
see Tommy, and you can come too.” So they all went 
off to pay a visit to Tommy, and in the mean time his 
brief story may be told. 

Two donkeys, of whom Tommy was one, had been 
banished to a neighboring island a year or two before, 
on account of serious and persistent misconduct. The 
island was an uninhabited one, where the means of 
subsistence were of the meagrest; indeed, but for the 
contributions of benevolent passers-by, they must soon 
have ceased to subsist altogether, and it would never 
have been known how sweet the uses of adversity had 
proved to Tommy. 

As soon as Sybil could, after she and Lorrie came to 
Quesne, she got Trawley to take her to the “ penal set- 


142 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


tlement,” as she called the place of banishment, with 
supplies of food and straw ; and they discussed on their 
way the possibility of making some kind of shelter on 
the island, Trawley being of the opinion that anything 
he could make in that line would be swept away by the 
first fierce sou’wester. However, when they reached 
the island, they found that one of the donkeys was dead 
— his body tying stiff and stark on the sand, while his 
companion was standing beside him, presenting a most 
pathetic picture. Sybil at once announced her inten- 
tion of taking him back with them. Trawley doubted 
whether it could be done ; at least, that was the spoken 
version of his feeling that it would be a great waste of 
trouble for such a “ worthless little warmint. ” 

“But, Trawley,” Sybil argued, “if a boat brought 
two donkeys here, a boat can take one donkey back.” 

“Very true, miss, I can’t deny that.” So Sybil 
coaxed Tommy to eat out of her hand, and it was not a 
difficult matter, then, to persuade him to enter the boat, 
to submit to having his legs tied, and lie quietly while 
they made the short passage between the two islands. 

Ho doubt he felt himself in paradise when he was 
installed in his new and comfortable quarters; and if 
Sybil had been obliged to give bonds for his good be- 
havior she could have done so with perfect safety, for 
a more docile and affectionate creature never lived, 
although it may be doubted whether he was capable of 
the degree of disinterested devotion shown by a certain 
little French donkey, in a long and toilsome journey up 
hill and down dale. The story has been told by her 
master himself, and he frankly admits that her faithful, 
patient affection only moved him to hatred — never to 
pity, or to gentle treatment. Luckily for Tommy he 
had no such experiences of human possibilities, even 
in his darkest days. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


143 


Having found him in his usual cheerful spirits, and 
Don quite recovered, Lorrie and Sybil went to the gar- 
den, the three dogs stationing themselves at the gate and 
peering wistfully in at the forbidden precincts. Lorrie, 
with his basket and pipe, sauntered after Sybil among 
the borders while she gathered sprays of double pink 
and white campanulas, and heliotrope and geraniums, 
and presently came with her hands full of Shir- 
ley poppies — white with pink fringes, palest pink, 
brightest scarlet with white fringes — their delicate 
silken petals stirred by a breath, and looking as if a 
breath must tarnish their beauty. “Lovely things, 
aren’t they?” she said. “As for these,” coming again 
a moment after, with a great bunch of pale mauve 
sweet peas, “ they are a dream, with their faint deli- 
cious color and fragrance;” and she repeated, as she 
held them for Lorrie to admire : 

“Here are sweet peas, on tiptoe for a flight, 

With wings of gentle flush o’er delicate white ; 

And taper fingers, catching at all things, 

To bind them all about with tiny rings. ” 

“Who says that?” asked Lorrie. 

“Your own beloved Keats,” Sybil replied. 

“ He knew what was nice, didn’t he ! Anything more 
for the tawny eyes to feast on?” 

“ Roses ! I never in my life saw so many half-blown 
ones as there are in that border over there. You 
needn’t come, as the basket is full.” 

When Sybil came back from the rose-border, Lorrie 
was stretched on the grass, his hands under his head, 
the basket overturned beside him, and half the flowers 
tipped out on the ground. 

“O Lorrie dear!” she cried, “only see what you’ve 
done ! How could you treat them so badly ?” 


144 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Lome sat up, looking ruefully at the spilt flowers. 
“ I’m awfully sorry. I thought they were right side 
up;” and he watched Sybil with rather a disti^ait air 
as she replaced them in the basket. 

Suddenly he said, “ Do you think I could make any- 
thing out of modern Kome? I mean,” he added, 
blushing a little, and then laughing, as he met Sybil’s 
puzzled, amused eyes — “ oh, bother ! you know what I 
mean ! as a subject for my first magazine article — my 
first attempt at doing something.” 

“I think,” Sybil said, kneeling beside him on the 
grass, with glowing eyes and cheeks — “ I think it would 
be a capital subject, darling — you were always so fond 
of Roman history, and know Rome as it is so thoroughly. 
Oh, I am perfectly sure you would do it beautifully ! 
nobody better.” 

“ Do you really mean it?” he asked eagerly. 

“ I mean it! every word,” Sybil replied in a tone that 
must have carried conviction to the most sceptical ; but 
she could say no more just then ; and with her arm in 
his, they left the garden. When Sybil had emptied 
her flowers on the table, Lorrie took her face between 
his hands; “Sybil,” he said, “you are an angel; and if 
I ever do anything worth while, you must take all the 
credit to yourself. And mind, I shall never give you 
up to anybody. There’s no man living good enough 
for you; and, besides, I couldn’t spare you — I want you 
all to myself.” 

“You must always want me, dear, for I shall always 
want you,” Sybil answered, between tears and smiles. 

“Then it’s a bargain,” Lorrie said, resting his hands 
on her shoulders. “You are always to live with me, 
and keep me up to the scratch, and be my good angel.” 

Just then the deliberate, clanging strokes of the 
Dutch clock came in from the passage. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


145 


“Good gracious!” Lorrie exclaimed, “do you hear 
that? It’s twelve o’clock, and they are to be here at 
half-past. You will have to hurry up with your flow- 
ers, while I exchange this comfortable old coat for a 
company one.” 

“Why should you change it? You look so nice in 
that — it isn’t as if it were to be dinner.” 

“Look nice, do I?” returned Lorrie, surveying him- 
self in the glass that hung between the windows; “very 
well, if you think I shall he as irresistible to the tawny 
girl in an old olive-brown velveteen ” 

Sybil looked up quickly, and met his eyes shining 
down upon her from the mirror. “Vain boy!” she 
ejaculated, as she carried two vases full of flowers, and 
set them on the high mantel-shelf. 

10 


CHAPTER XXIIL 


— That hand withal looked somewhat soft and small 
For so large a will, in sooth. 


— Mrs. Browning. 


And fear’st thou, and fear’st thou. 
And seest thou, and hear’st thou? 


—Shelley. 


T half-past twelve Lorrie and Sybil were down on 



A the sands, watching the approach of the small 
yacht Ladybird from St. Hilda’s. Clive stood in 
the bow, and shouted: “Coming in fine style, aren’t 
we? Isn’t she a beauty?” 

“ She is, ” Lorrie called back, his eyes, Sybil noticed, 
resting on the little figure in the stern, rather than on 
the boat itself, or on Clive in the bow. 

A startling thought had been suggested to Sybil by 
Lorrie’s light words as he stood before the glass ; the 
old conviction that he was “ irresistible” came back ; hut 
now, as she considered Lynette, trying to see her with 
Lorrie’s eyes, she felt reassured ; she looked such a child, 
in h^r navy-blue dress braided with white, and her 
sailor hat. When the boat stopped, she came and stood 
beside Clive, while he and Lorrie discussed the ques- 
tion as to how she should be landed, for there were 
several feet of shallow water and wet sand to be crossed, 
the tide being low. 

Lynette rested a hand on her brother’s shoulder, while 
she measured the distance between her and the dry 
sands ; and before even Clive guessed her intention, she 


146 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


147 


had cleared the space like a bird, and stood beside Sybil, 
with bright cheeks and dancing eyes. 

“Good for you, Tine!” cried Clive, following her 
example. 

“ It was beautifully done,” Sybil exclaimed. 

Lorrie came in his turn to shake hands, and Sybil 
introduced them. “Jumping is a rare accomplishment 
for young ladies,” he said, with something in his ej^es 
that made the color deepen in Lynette’s cheeks. 

“I have often jumped with Clive for a wager,” she 
answered, with a touch of defiance, “and I as often 
won as he.” 

“Yes; but you haven’t done it for the last year or 
two — not since you’ve been grown up, you know. Tiny,” 
Clive interposed. He did not want Sybil to think her 
unladylike. 

“But I haven’t given up the ‘rare accomplishment,’ 
you see,” she said to Lorrie, still defiantly, Lorrie’s 
inward comment being, “A peppery little thing— a 
spoilt child,” as he turned away and joined Clive. 

“ Thank you so much. Miss Trevyllian, for asking us 
— we were so pleased to come, ” Lynette said, “ and my 
aunt thought it so good of you. She sent her kind 
regards.” 

“Oh, I say,” cried Clive, “shall we want Ladybird 
for our expedition this afternoon? We can have her if 
we do.” 

“ I think not,” Sybil replied. “We thought it would 
be nice to go to the Lover’s Yale; it is a beautiful place 
— if you and your sister would like it as well as going 
somewhere in the boat.” 

“I’m sure we should, and a great deal better,” Clive 
declared. 

“What do you think. Miss Graham?” Sybil asked of 
Lynette, catching a wistful look in her eyes. 


148 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ I should like it very much. I think it would be 
delightful,” she replied, with a furtive frown and shake 
of the head at Clive. 

“ I know what she wants — what she would like better 
than anything else in the world,” said Clive, laughing 
back at her, as he and Lorrie led the way along the 
sands. 

“You. are tiresome. Tiny,” Lynette exclaimed, with 
hot cheeks, as Lorrie and Sybil looked at her question- 
ingly. 

“ I shall tell, if you don’t,” Clive announced, walking 
backward to face his sister. 

“You would not be so unkind as not to tell us what 
it is you would like so much to do,” Sybil said encour- 
agingly. 

“It is only,” Lynette began, with a reproachful look 
at Clive, “only that Clive told me about the Lorelei’s 
Nest and the sea-gulls, and I said how much I should 
like to see the place, and see the birds come when you 
whistled, and eat shrimps at your feet. But I never 
thought Tiny would speak of it ; for after you had seen 
how idiotically I behaved yesterday, of course j^ou 
couldn’t take me there. Clive says those rocks were 
nothing compared with what you have to cross to get 
to the Lorelei’s Nest.” 

“What and where is this great mystery?” asked 
Lorrie. “ My sister has never revealed it to me. Miss 
Graham.” 

“No,” laughed Sybil, “Clive and I are the only mor- 
tals who are in the secret.” 

“We won’t submit to it. Miss Graham,” Lorrie 
said, coming to Lynette ’s side. “We will go to this 
‘Lorelei’s Nest ’ this very day. I will undertake to get 
you safely there and back.” 

“ Oh, thank you so much!” exclaimed Lynette. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


149 


“I believe in fair play,” said Lorrie; “one doesn’t 
like being left out in the cold by one’s own sister.” 

“And one’s own brother,” Lynette added, with a 
reproachful look at Clive. 

“What do you think? Can we manage it?” Clive 
said to Sybil. 

“I think we can,” she replied; “Lorrie is a splendid 
climber, and so are you ; and I can take care of myself, 
while you two take care of your sister. ” 

Lynette was charmed with the quaint old house and 
the floral decorations, and made great friends with the 
dogs and Barty. She was even introduced to Tommy, 
and was told his pathetic history. 

“ I thought we were to carry dishes and eatables for 
a gipsy tea,” said Lorrie to Sybil as they sallied out, 
after lunch. 

“ I concluded that it would be better to come home to 
tea, especially knowing what a lazy Lorrance we have 
for our host.” 

“A Sybil, indeed!” said Lorrie. “Unpacking and 
packing up dishes and food is a great bore. Don’t you 
think so, Graham?” 

“No, I don’t; I think it’s great fun.” 

“‘Wait till you come to forty year,”’ sighed 
Lorrie. 

“ Why don’t you wait till then, before you talk about 
picnics being a bore?” demanded Clive. 

“ You may well ask,” said Sybil. 

“Have you got some shrimps?” Lynette asked anx- 
iously. 

“ Oh, yes,” replied Sybil, holding up a small Mentone 
bag that Clive immediately took possession of. “ Come 
on. Miss Trevyllian,” he said; “we’ll take the lead, as 
we are to personally conduct these innocents, ” and they 
started off through the garden. 


150 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“We must follow our leaders,” said Lorrie, as Lynette 
lingered to admire the roses. 

“ I can’t think — do tell me how it happened that you 
didn’t know about the Lorelei’s Nest,” Lynette said, 
while they hurried on to overtake their leaders ; “ I 
never like Tiny to know of things that I don’t know. 
That was one reason why I wished so much to go to 
the Nest.” 

“I am afraid you were jealous,” said Lorrie, with 
an amused look. 

Lynette gave him a quick glance and blushed, as she 
replied : “ It was rather a blow to find that Tiny had seen 
such a wonderful sight, and to feel that I never could 
see it; and I’m afraid I was just the least little bit 
jealous at first, when I saw what very good friends 
Tiny and your sister were, and knowing they had such 
a secret between them. I believe I was glad to find 
that you weren’t in it either, because I knew that Miss 
Trevy Ilian couldn’t possibly be so fond of my brother 
as she is of her own, yet she had a secret from you ” 

“ And that Clive couldn’t possibly be as fond of Sybil 
as he is of his own sister,” added Lorrie. 

“Yes; so now I am not jealous at all. You see,” 
she went on, anxious to excuse herself in Lorrie’s eyes, 
“ Tiny and I have always told each other everything, 
from the time we were mere scraps of children; we 
played dolls together, and did our lessons together, and 
climbed trees together — though I am so much older 
than he is.” 

“And, I suppose, quarrelled together,” suggested 
Lorrie. 

“ Oh, we didn’t quarrel much, for Tiny was always 
so good; he always gives up to me,” Lynette blushed 
as she realized what an admission she had made. 
“Well, of course; boys must give up to girls, and hus- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


151 


bands to wives, mustn’t they? It’s only right and 
polite.” 

“Of course,” responded Lorrie; “and now that you 
have outgrown dolls and lessons, you have your love 
affairs to confide to each other, I suppose.” 

Lynette broke into a sudden, merry laugh. “As if 
we had had any love affairs yet,” she cried derisively; 
“why, I am only just eighteen, and Tiny isn’t sixteen 
yet. We shan’t have any love affairs for years to come, 
I should hope. I am very glad, and thankful that wa 
are no older than we are,” she added, with sudden 
gravity. 

“ Why? People are generally always wishing them- 
selves older until they have passed twenty-five or so ; 
then they begin to wish to be younger, and grow more 
and more discontented with their age as time goes 
on.” 

“Do they? Well, of course I am glad Tiny isn’t old 
enough to fall in love ; oh, I shall be jealous then!^’ she 
exclaimed almost fiercely. “ But that won’t be for a 
very long time yet,” she added, with a sigh of relief. 
“ There is only one reason why I should like to be even 
younger than I am — but there ! what nonsense we are 
talking !” she cried ; “ we had better drop this foolish 
subject and talk sense; though I suppose love isn’t 
really nonsense to you,” looking up inquiringly; “you 
are so very much older than we are.” 

“Yes, quite a fossil compared with you and Clive,” 
returned Lorrie. “ I think we must go single file here, ” 
he said, as they reached the narrow path that led up 
the rocks. 

“ All right,” Lynette responded, following him closely 
as he followed Sybil and Clive at a distance. 

“You are climbing well to-day. Tiny,” Clive called 
down to her. 


152 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ Oh, you know it’s one thing to see the water below - 
you, and know that if you stumbled you would fall in 
and be drowned ; and quite another to be so nicely shut 
in by all these mossy rocks,” Lynette called back. 

Clive looked at Sybil and groaned, knowing how soon 
the scene would change. Presently, as he and Sybil 
reached the top of the path, he came back to Lynette : 
“N’ow, Tiny, are you going to be a brave Tiny, and not 
be frightened, no matter what you see?” 

“Of course she is,” said Sybil; “how could she be 
frightened with you to hold one hand and Lorrie the 
other, and seeing mo go boldly on ahead? Whj’, she 
couldn’t fall if she tried.” 

“ It seems to me you are both doing your best to pre- 
pare her to be frightened,” said Lorrie impatiently ; 

“ sufficient unto the moment is the evil thereof, I should 
say. Move on, please, and let Miss Graham and me 
see what it is like.” 

“All right,” responded Clive, “only don’t say we 
didn’t warn you.” 

A few more steps brought them to the end of the 
sheltered path, and to the edge of the granite slab. 
Sybil came and stood beside Lynette, an anxious flush 
in her cheeks. Clive stood, his hands in his pockets 
and feet planted apart, watching the faces of the “ un- 
initiated.” 

“I don’t see why it should stick there,” remarked 
Lorrie casually, after a moment’s inspection of the 
rock, seeing how it overhung the sea ; “ why doesn’t it 
tumble in?” 

“Why — don’t you see? — there’s such a lot more of the 
beast that hang over than does,” Clive explained. 

“Only his chest and forepaws, as it were, overhang; 
looks as if he might have been slowly sliding down from 
somewhere up there, and suddenly funked it, and had 


^VBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


153 


sat there ever since. Does the sea ever come up as 
high as this, Miss Trevyllian?” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Sybil; “whenever there’s a storm 
the surf flies over all those highest rocks. Do you see 
those masses of brown stuff up there? Well, that is 
seaweed that the billows have carried up and left be- 
hind them.” 

“ You never were caught in a storm over there, were 
you?” asked Clive. 

“No, indeed! I take good care never to go when 
there’s the smallest chance of one,” Sybil replied. 

“What are you two saying?” demanded Lorrie. 
“You don’t mean to tell me, Sybil, that you have ever 
been across that rock?” 

“Yes, I have,” Sybil replied, half ashamed to admit 
the truth; “the Lorelei’s Nest is over there, inside 
those two granite pillars. ” 

“ Well,” exclaimed Lorrie, “ I am astonished that jmu 
should ever have done such an insane thing yourself, 
and still more that you should have consented to any 
one’s doing it who is under your care and has shown 
that she hasn’t your nerve.” 

“ I am sure you are right, Lorrie,” Sybil said gently; 
“ it is too difficult for Miss Graham ; and there will be 
plenty of time for the Lover’s Vale if we go back at 
once. I am only sorry that you should be disappointed, ” 
she added to Lynette. 

“But you’ve seen what iCs like. Tine, and that’s 
better than nothing, isn’t it?” said Clive. 

“No, it isn’t,” Lynette declared vehemently, taking 
every bpdy by surprise. “I can’t see at all what it’s 
like. I can only see two great rocks ; and how can I 
see the gulls eating shrimps, and hear Miss Trevyllian 
whistle, unless I go to the Nest?” 

“ Tiny, listen to me !” cried Clive. 


154 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ No, I’m not going to listen,” Lynette declared. “ I 
do want to see the Nest and the gulls, and you must 
take me. ” Lorrie was saying to himself that she looked 
like “ the obstinatest little mule that ever set his forefeet 
against arguments and persuasions,” when she suddenly 
turned to him. “Mr. Trevyllian,” she said, “it was 
you who said that we would not be kept out of the 
secret, and that you would take me there, without let- 
ting me he frightened or hurt ; and now you are the 
one to draw back, and say that you won’t go and that 
I shall not ; and you scold your sister as if it were all 
her doing, our starting for the Nest ! Is that nice of 
you?” 

“ It may not be nice of me,” Lorrie replied, “to scold 
my sister for what, I must admit, was my doing; but 
who could have imagined that it was like this? What 
would happen, do you think, if you got half-way across 
that slab and had a panic, such as you had the other 
day, and couldn’t go on?” 

“ But how could I have a panic if you had hold of 
one hand and Tiny of the other, and I saw Miss Tre- 
vyllian walking calmly on in front? That day I had 
nobody but Tiny.” 

“I like that! ungrateful little cat!” cried Clive. 

“ It does make a difference, you know. Tiny dear, ” 
pleaded Lynette. “ Do — do take me !” she cried, clasp- 
ing her hands beseechingly, as she turned to Lorrie. 

“You are a very wilful young lady, but I suppose 
you must have your way, as wilful women always 
manage to do ; but if we all fall into the sea ” 

“We shan’t! I’m not in the least afraid,” cried 
Lynette, gleefully. “ I’ll do just what you tell me, and 
keep my eyes tight shut, so that I can’t see what there 
is to be frightened at, and — you are not vexed with 
me, are you?” she asked, laying her hand on Sybil’s. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


155 


“Vexed? oh, no!” Sybil returned, smiling into the 
sweet eyes. “ I am sure we can manage the crossing 
safely, and I shall like you and Lorrie to see the Nest.” 

“Thank you! you are good,” ciied Lynette. She 
turned to Lorrie then, and held out one hand to him 
and the other to Clive ; but she drew back, as she met 
what seemed, to her, the mocking look in Lorrie’s eyes. 
“ I’m not going,” she declared hotly. 

“ Oh, yes, you are,” said Lorrie. “You can’t get out 
of it now, and you mustn’t quarrel with me just when 
I have such a chance to punish you. Now, let us ar- 
range this procession,” he continued. “Sybil, you had 
better go first — I wish I had two pairs of hands.” 

“ If you had six pairs I shouldn’t need any of them,” 
Sybil responded lightly. “ I have been across twenty 
times, at least, with never the quiver of a nerve — until 
yesterday,” she added softly. 

“Can I praise you for that?” demanded Lorrie. 
“Well, you shall go ahead, then I shall follow with 
Miss Graham — so;” and he turned to face the Nest, 
and stretched his hands back for Lynette’s. 

“Hullo,” cried Clive, “how’s this? I thought I was 
to take one hand.” 

“No, I think you had better go close behind your 
sister, with your hands on her waist ; not resting, you 
know, so as to seem a weight, but just to let her feel 
that you are there. Then we must take short, regular 
steps, so that nobody shall kick anybody’s heels.” 

“And I shall shut my eyes, and never open them 
until we are on the other side,” announced Lynette. 

“ All right,” Lorrie said. “Now, are we ready? for- 
ward, march, then.” 

No more was said, and there was no sound for a time 
but the steady tramp of feet, and the striving of the 
waters below ; and all went well until they came to the 


156 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


centre of the crossing, where the shelf rounded up 
slightly. It seemed to Lynette that something was 
rising against her feet. She involuntarily opened her 
eyes to see what was happening, and a cry broke from 
her that fairly froze the blood of her companions, while 
Lorrie and Clive felt her swaying in their grasp. 

“Tiny!” gasped Clive, feeling as if his own brain 
were reeling, “what is it?” 

“ For heaven’s sake, have courage !” exclaimed Lorrie, 
“ we are nearly across ;” and he tightened his hold on 
Lynette’s hands, until, terror-stricken as she was, she 
felt her rings piercing the flesh. 

Sybil turned quickly when Lynette’s sharp scream 
smote her ear, and as nearly as possible lost her bal- 
ance ; but she steadied herself with a desperate effort, 
and having seen that her worst fears were groundless, 
she sprang swiftly across the intervening space, and 
sank, white and breathless, on the foot of the saurian, 
to watch with an agony of suspense the approach of 
the others. 

When they reached the spot where the path widened 
and ascended for a few feet, to her horror she saw Lor- 
rie turn suddenly, and catch Lynette in his arms; and 
she knew she must have fainted. 

“Lay her here, with her head in my lap,” she said, 
seating herself on the grass within the enclosure. 
“Poor child,” she murmured, as they laid her gently 
down. She pushed the bright hair off the unconscious 
face, and chafed the cold hands, while Clive, utterly 
overcome by the horror of those few moments, and 
with terror at seeing Lynette lying so white and appa- 
rently lifeless, sat down on a rock close by, and sobbed. 

“Don’t do that, my hoy,” Lorrie said, laying his 
hand on Clive’s shoulder, his voice trembling, and his 
face colorless. “She’ll soon get over it.” 


^YBIL TRBVYLLIAN. 


157 


“Oh, yes,” echoed Sybil, as cheerfully as she was 
able; “and not be a bit the worse.” 

“ Do you truly think so?” asked Clive eagerly. 

“ I’m quite sure of it.” 

“I shall never forgive myself,” he said, taking one 
of the limp little hands in his, and kissing it softly. 

“Rub it,” Sybil said, “while I rub this one — she’s 
coming to ! Sit down, both of you, there — so that when 
she first opens her eyes she can’t see the water. That 
will do — and speak cheerfully. ” 

“ Do I look as if I’d been — making an ass of myself?” 
Clive asked. 

“Not at all,” Lorrie replied kindly, though feeling a 
little inclined to smile as he looked at the poor boy’s 
tear-stained face. 

Lynette’s eyes suddenly opened, and fell first on Lor- 
rie and Clive, kneeling before her; and then she saw 
that she was lying in Sybil’s arms, and in a strange 
place. She gazed from one to the other in bewilder- 
ment. “Where am I? What has happened?” she 
asked, in a weak little voice. 

“You fainted, dear, that’s all,” Sybil replied, sooth- 
ingly. “ You are all right now.” 

“Am I? I don’t think I feel very right.” 

“Don’t you? poor little Tiny!” said Clive tenderly; 
“how do you feel?” 

“ I feel — as if I had fainted, and hadn’t quite — come 
to.” 

“ She can’t expect to come to all of a sudden, can she?” 
Clive said, spreading himself as much as possible, to 
prevent her seeing beyond himself and Lorrie. 

But Lorrie was absorbed in very serious thoughts as 
to how she was to be got back across that “ fiendish 
rock,” and suddenly sprang up and hurried to the edge. 
A brief survey filled him with a fresh anxiety. At 


158 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


that moment, too, Lynette uttered a cry that was only 
less terrifying than the first, because they were not in 
that imminent peril. 

Lorrie turned sharply, taking it all in at a glance. 
She had suddenly realized everything, past, present, 
and to come, and that cry was the result. “ A cheerful 
prospect,” he muttered, as he drew near. 

Sybil held Lynette close, as shuddering and moaning 
she hid her face. She tried to soothe her, while Clive 
knelt at her side in speechless distress. 

“Miss Graham,” Lorrie said gravely, “you must 
control yourself ; our very lives may depend upon your 
summoning all your courage and letting me take you 
hack as you came; and there is no time to lose.” 

“Oh, I can’t, I can’t,” moaned Lynette. “It is too 
horrible to think of,” and she clung closer to Sybil. 

“Then, what do you propose that we should do?” 
demanded Lorrie impatiently. “ Do you wish to spend 
the night here, and take all the consequences? for us, 
as well as yourself?” 

“Stop that!” cried Clive, red with anger. “Never 
mind what he says. Tiny dear. You shall wait until 
you feel well, and then Fll take you across.” 

“Don’t be an ass, Graham,” Lorrie retorted with 
equal heat. “Didn’t you hear me say that there was 
no time to lose? If you don’t believe , me, look at the 
sky — that may bring you to reason.” 

Sybil and Clive looked up for the first time, so ab- 
sorbed had they been in Lynette, and saw, to their 
horror, that the aspect of things had wholly changed 
in that brief space of time. Dark, jagged clouds were 
gathering from far and near, and the sea was blue and 
sunny no longer. All was gray and threatening, though 
the face of the water was only disturbed — not yet angry 
and tumultuous. Sybil’s heart fairly stood still, as 


150 


SYBIL TREVYLLlAN. 

she looked and listened, hearing distinctly the low 
moaning sound that she knew was the sea’s warning 
to the land of the terrible things to come. The winds 
were as yet motionless, but it was the calm of treachery, 
not of good will, she knew. 

“Does it mean a storm?” Clive asked fearfully.^ 

“Can you doubt it? of course it does,” answered 
Lorrie. “ so now will you and Sybil help me to decide 
what is to be done? You heard Sybil say that the sea 
washes over these rocks whenever there’s a storm, and 
who can say how soon it may be upon us?” 

Clive shuddered, and his very lips were white, as he 
bent over Lynette. “ Tiny, come ! there’s a dear, brave 
little thing — try to stand up and not to be afraid,” he 
urged gently. 

He and Sybil each took a hand and lifted her to her 
feet; but after one look she sank down, helpless and 
miserable. 

Lorrie stamped his foot with impatience. “ Good 
heavens !” he cried, “ are we all to be sacrificed to the 
fears of an obstinate girl?” 

“Don’t, Lorrie,” pleaded Sybil; “she is really ill — 
oh — she has fainted again !” and indeed Lynette’s eyes 
had closed and she was quite unconscious. 

“It’s your fault — you did it,” cried Clive, clinching 
his fist and looking as if he would like to pummel Lor- 
rie with it right then and there. 

“ No, dear Clive, it is only that Lorrie knows we are 
all in such danger. The storm will soon be upon us, 
and then ” 

“There’s but one thing to be done,” interrupted Lor- 
rie, having been too busy considering, to notice Clive’s 
angry outburst. “ I must carry her.” 

“You can’t, dear! you must not,” cried Sybil, 
aghast. 


160 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“Oh no, yon couldn’t possibly do it,” echoed Clive, 
his resentment all gone. 

“ I can and I must,” Lorrie replied. “The only way 
to save us all is to get her across while she is uncon- 
scious. Can’t you see it?” he demanded impatiently. 

“We won’t say another word against it, Lorrie dear,” 
Sybil replied ; “ and we will do whatever you tell us. 

You know ” she looked up in his face with an 

agony of tenderness in her eyes. 

“Yes, dear, I know you are thinking of me; but I 
am strong and sure-footed — and it’s got to be done, 
that’s all,” he added, as a sharp flash from the jagged 
clouds dazzled their eyes for an instant. “ Could you 
carry my coat and cap?” 

“ Oh, yes, perfectly well, ” and Lorrie took them off 
hurriedly, and gave them to Sybil. 

With Clive’s help he lifted Lynette from the ground, 
where she lay in a lifeless heap. “ I think that will be 
the best way,” he said, taking her as if she had been a 
sleeping child. “ Luckily the rock slopes back a good 
deal, so that there’s no danger of my knocking her head 
against it, and the path, after all, is wide enough for 
a good foothold, and, luckily too, she is very light.” 

“Yes, if she was a ten-stoner it would be another 
matter, wouldn’t it?” said Clive, whose spirits had risen 
at seeing Tiny so firmly held in Lorrie’s strong arms. 

“Now, are we ready? Sybil — you must go in front 
where I can see you and know you are safe,” Lorrie’s 
voice broke a little. 

“Very well, dear,” Sybil responded with a cheerful- 
ness that belied the sinking of her heart. 

They fell into step as they went slowly down the 
narrow bit of path, Sybil taking the lead. Lorrie fol- 
lowed, pale and stern, seeing nothing but the spot 
where his foot must next be planted. Clive, coming 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


161 


last, saw nothing but Lorrie’s heels and his own toes. 
He felt that one glimpse of Tiny’s unconscious face 
would be too much for his vaunted courage. 

The noise from the now angry, boiling waters below 
had become deafening. They could hardly have heard 
each other’s voices, even if they had shouted. Once 
Sybil’s heart grew sick with dread, as a light flash of 
spray swept across her face. If it should rouse Lynette ! 
But a moment more, and she stood in safety beyond the 
shelf, and, turning, saw that the others were coming 
steadily after. Another dozen seconds, and they stood 
beside her. 

“Thank God!” she whispered with quivering lips. 
“ Come a little way down, darling. ” She threw an arm 
round Lorrie, seeing that now he staggered beneath his 
burden. 

When Clive had taken Lynette and placed her on the 
ground, with her head in Sybil’s lap, Lorrie felt his 
strength quite gone for the moment, and leaned his 
head in his hands, breathing in short, labored gasps. 

“Good gracious! what’s that?” cried Clive, as a 
fierce gust of wind swept past them, that might have 
carried them off their feet, even there, if they had been 
standing, followed by a heavy, driving shower of spray 
that fell upon them, and went creeping down the defile 
like a shallow mountain stream, and then the roll of 
distant thunder was heard. 

“The wetting will bring Tiny to herself,” Sybil said; 
and she was right, for almost as she spoke Lynette 
opened her eyes and looked fearfully about her. “ It’s 
all right now, truly. Tiny,” cried Clive. “You are on 
this side of that beastly slab, so you needn’t go off in a 
faint again.” 

“ This side?” repeated Lynette anxiously. “ Which 
side. Tiny?” 

11 


162 ^ SYBIL THEVYLLIAN. 

“ Why, the right side, dear little silly ! you haven’t 
got to cross it — don’t you understand?” 

“ Oh, I am glad. But how •” She looked about 

her, sadly puzzled. 

“Never mind now, dear,” said Sybil; “the one thing 
to think of is getting home. We are all so wet, and 
there are worse things coming. Do you think you can 
walk now, if Clive and I help you?” 

“Oh, I’ll carry her down here, it’s so steep and 
rough,” said Clive, and he lifted her from her feet, 
boy-fashion, and began to descend the rocks, and Sybil 
walked beside them to steady his uncertain step. 

“What is the matter with Mr. Trevyllian, Tiny?” 
Lynette asked, watching Lorrie with serious eyes, as 
he followed them, putting on his coat with some diffi- 
culty over his wet shirt-sleeves. 

“Poor fellow; he was so frightened of the crossing,” 
ejaculated Clive, rather breathless with his exertion. 

Lynette uttered a faint, incredulous laugh, and said 
no more. 

When they had reached the bottom of the path, 
and were walking across the meadows, Lynette be- 
tween Sybil and Clive, she suddenly exclaimed, “ Do ^ 
tell me how I got across that fearful place? I haven’t 
the least recollection of it. The last thing I remember 
was seeing that terrible sea close — close! and hear- 
ing ” she paused with a reproachful glance at Lor- 

rie. “What made you so fearfully angry with me, 
Mr. Trevyllian? You did hurt my hands,” she added, 
looking mournfully at the one that had two little rings 
upon the third finger. 

Lorrie came round in front, and saw that the delicate 
skin was red and slightly broken. “I am awfully 
sorry,” he said, reddening hotly. “ I must seem a per- 
fect bxute; but it really wasn’t when I was angry that 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


163 


I did it — do believe me! it was when I was taking you 
across to the Nest, and I thought you were going to 
fall; but I didn’t know I held your hands so tight — 
it must hurt you fearfully.” 

“ I don’t mind it in the least, now that I know,” Lyn- 
ette returned. “I remember it all better now,” she 
added after a pause, while they still moved quickly on. 
“I am afraid I screamed — did I?” 

“ I should just think you did. Tiny,” said Clive. “ It 
nearly froze us stiff, it pierced our ears so suddenly and 
was such a scream ! I only hope I may never hear an- 
other such, that’s all.” 

“ I am so sorry I do, all of you, forgive me ! and oh, 
do tell me how I got — how you got me across this time?” 

“I’ll tell you. Tiny, if you must know,” said Clive, 
not heeding Lorrie’s muttered remonstrances ; “ Mr. 

Trevyllian carried you across in his arms.” 

“ He didn’t ! he couldn’t ! I don’t believe a word of 
it!” ejaculated Lynette, withdrawing her hands, and 
standing stock still, with crimson cheeks and burning 
eyes. 

“He did, though,” Clive declared, drawing her on. 
“ If he hadn’t you’d be there now, with nobody but the 
gulls for company, maybe, for of course ive shouldn’t 
have stayed with you ! W e weren’t afraid to cross, and 
the storm was coming on.” 

“Wicked Clive, to tease your poor little sister so!” 
said Sybil, shaking her head at him reprovingly. 

“I shouldn’t have minded if you had left me,” Lyn- 
ette said desperately, and she neither looked up nor 
spoke again until they reached home. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


Tossing, turbulent seas, 

Winds that wrestle with these, 


Restless, ravening seas 


—Rossetti. 



AROLIXE met them at the door, where she had 


been watching at intervals ever since the first 
signs of a change in the weather, thankful to have them 
back safe and sound, though so wet and dishevelled. 

“ The fire is alight in your room, miss, and the sooner 
you take off your wet things and all have cups of hot 
tea, the better.” And she added aside to Sybil, 
“ There’s a pilot-boat come for Mr. and Miss Graham, 
and a servant from St. Hilda’s is in the kitchen wait- 
ing for them ; he came with the boat. ” 

“ I must speak with him at once,” Sybil said hastily. 

“Not before you have changed your wet things,” 
Caroline urged. 

“Yes; I mustn’t keep him waiting another mo- 
ment. Take Miss Graham to my room, please, and 
get her everything she needs. Caroline will go with 
you,” she said to Lynette, who stood by, looking very 
serious and paying no heed to what was going on, “ and 
I will come very soon.” 

Lynette followed Caroline, but when she saw Lorrie 
and Clive in the passage she stopped, hesitating and 
blushing; then went shyly up to them. “ I am sorry I 
was so obstinate, and made you take me to the Nest. 


164 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


165 


I don’t wonder you were angry, but I do wonder that 
you were so kind. I am very grateful, though I can’t 
thank you properly.” Before even Clive could speak, 
she had fled upstairs after Caroline. 

A half-hour later Lorrie and Clive came down, Clive 
being arrayed in a suit of Lorrie’s. Sybil appeared a 
moment after. “ Oh, here you are !” she said smilingly, 
surveying Clive. 

“Not such a bad fit,” he remarked complacently, 
“considering that I’m ‘a mere boy,’ as my people are 
always reminding me. Where’s Tiny? — isn’t she 
coming down?” 

“ I persuaded her to rest awhile first, she is so tired.” 

“I thought I heard something about a pilot-boat,” 
Clive said with a dismal face; “I don’t suppose we 
ought to keep them waiting ; the storm seems to be 
getting worse instead of better. Oh, I say ! isn’t it a 
rouser, though !” he cried, as a vivid flash of lightning 
and a deafening crash of thunder startled them. 

“ You don’t imagine that you are going back to St. 
Hilda’s to-night,” &aid Lorrie, when the din had sub- 
sided. “ What do you take us for?” 

“No, indeed, you are not,” said Sybil; “the pilot- 
boat is there by this time. I sent them away as soon 
as possible after we got home, without even waiting to 
consult you and Lynette.” 

“You knew pretty well what we should say,” cried 
Clive, his face radiant. 

“ I hoped you would approve. I sent messages to 
Mrs. Penfill explaining that we had not got home when 
the boat came, and promising to take the best possible 
cai^ of you both until the sea was quiet again.” 

“ Long may it wave !” cried Clive, coloring a little, 
as he met Sybil’s smiling eyes. 

“ Have we a punster among us?”demanded Lorrie. 


166 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN 


“ Oh dear no ! I never made an original pun in my 
life. I picked that up from some American boys we 
knew in India ; it’s a line out of their national hymn, 
‘The Star Spangled Banner,’ and it fitted the occasion, 
so well — my view of it ! — that I couldn’t help trotting 
it out. I hope you won’t get tired of us before the sea 
stops waving?” he added eagerly. 

“There’s not the smallest chance of that,” Sybil re- 
sponded heartily. 

“ Does Tiny know how angelically good you are be- 
ing to us?” asked Clive. 

“ She knows that we are not going to send you home 
in this storm,” replied Sybil; “I don’t think anything 
was said about angelical goodness.” 

“Then let me go and mention it,” cried Clive; “not 
that I think she hasn’t said it to herself if she hasn’t 
to you.” 

“ She has said all sorts of sweet things, but I am sure 
she will be glad to see you.” 

“Good gracious! isn’t it awful, though?” Clive 
looked quite awe-stricken, as a fresh rush of wind swept 
howling by, laden with such torrents of rain that it 
seemed, as he said, like a great wave of the sea wash- 
ing over the island. 

When Clive had disappeared, Lorrie and Sybil sat 
on in silence. There were plenty of things to be talked 
over and discussed ; but even their perilous adventure 
seemed almost trivial with the elements raging in their 
resistless might, and Sybil could not bring herself to 
put into words the thoughts that had hardly been out 
of her mind since the storm began : of the deadly peril 
to any ship that should be so ill-fated as to come within 
its grasp. Helpless and well-nigh hopeless she felt its 
case must be if it were caught by these wild winds and 
angry seas, with those merciless rocks crouching by, 


SYBIL TREVELLIAN. 


167 


watching for prey. How different they all seemed to 
her in their present mood — sea and rocks and heavens 
and winds. They were like friends whose unreasoning 
anger we deprecate, but love all the same when they 
come to their right minds. 

Caroline came presently with the lamp. “ I thought 
a light might make it seem less dreary,’' she said, “not 
that it has any right to be as dark as this yet, but no 
wonder such a storm turns day into night.” 

“Poor Caroline! you don’t like it, I know,” Sybil 
said sympathizingly. “ Come in, Clive.” Clive ap- 
peared at the door at the moment. 

“I’ve come to ask if Tiny’s things are dry,” he said. 
“ How jolly to have a lamp, and those nice red curtains 
drawn, to shut out the sight of the rumpus outside,” he 
added, watching Caroline’s operations approvingly. 

“ I am quite sure the things are not dry enough to put 
on,” Sybil replied to his inquiry. 

“ Well then, do tell her that she must come down in 
your things. I’ve been telling her so, but just because 
that fascinating arrangement in soft blue stuff and silk 
and cream lace is a little bigger than her own dowdy 
frock, she thinks she must look a guy in it. I pointed 
out to her that you have seen her, and I have seen her, 
so there’s nobody left to be shocked but Mr. Trevyllian 
— and Party !” he added, as the last-named individual 
came trotting across the room, and jumped into Sybil’s 
lap. 

“ 0 poor Party !” Sybil cried, as she quickly dislodged 
him. “You are dripping wet, you’ve been out in the 
storm ! and what have you got in your mouth? Oh, you 
naughty Party! it’s a poor little bird. You must give 
him to me — put it in my hand this moment.” 

To Lorrie’s and Clive’s surprise and amusement. 
Party obeyed, although reluctantly. “ I won’t have it. 


168 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Barty; you know you are never to catch birds,” Sybil 
said severely. 

“ E vietato^ Signor Bartolomeo^ ” said Lorrie ; “ but I 
dare say be is not so very guilty, this time ; probably 
the poor little thing had been overpowered by the storm, 
and Barty, out for a stroll, found it on the ground and 
brought it to you to see if you could save it; you 
wouldn’t have had him leave it to perish, would you?” 

Clive laughed heartily at this view of Barty ’s con- 
duct, and at seeing him with his forepaws on Sybil’s 
knee, anxiously watching, as she held the bird in her 
hand and gently stroked its wet, ruffled feathers. 

“It is quite dead,” she said sadly; “I wish I knew 
that you hadn’t killed him, Barty.” 

“ He isn’t going to confess,” said Clive, “that switch 
of his tail says as much. ” 

“Give him the benefit of the doubt,” said Lorrie, 
“and let him have the bird for his supper.” 

“No, indeed! I shall do nothing of the kind,” Sybil 
declared; “it would only encourage him in wrong- 
doing.” 

“ He will take good care never to trust to your good 
opinion of him again,” said Lorrie, as Sybil was leav- 
ing the room with the bird in her hand and Barty at 
her heels. 

“ I do hope he won’t give me any more such proofs 
of confidence,” she returned, and added, “ I am going 
up, now, Clive, to persuade Lynette to come to dinner 
in my tea-gown.” 

“ Thanks ! you might tell her that Barty is in dis- 
grace, so she needn’t mind him. He isn’t a bit ashamed 
— he’s rather pleased,” Clive added, laughing at Barty ’s 
perky air. 

“Very different from a dog in disgrace, isn’t he,” 
said Lorrie, “ as for instance, poor Don, this morning ; 


SYB»IL TREVYLLIAN. 


169 


how abject and woebegone he looked, to be sure, be- 
cause his missus scolded him !” 

“ Dogs have a moral sense and I’m afraid cats have 
not,” said Sybil. 

Sybil put the dead bird in a safe place to await his 
burial the next day and shut Barty in a room by him- 
self, telling him that a half-hour’s quiet meditation 
would do him no harm, even if he were innocent ; then 
she went up to fetch Lynette. 

As she reached the top of the stairs, where the win- 
dow looked out over a wide stretch of sea and some of 
the smaller islands, as well as a bit of the rocky coast 
of St. Clements, she stopped to notice how pitchy dark 
it was already, and was thinking that the storm spirits 
like to hide their mad rioting under the semblance of 
night, and make their uproar more appalling by its 
mj^stery, when the black cloud that covered the heavens 
suddenly parted, letting loose a flood of light of unearthly 
brilliance. It was to Sybil’s startled eyes as if the 
whole world were made visible, and the heavens them- 
selves unveiled, between the masses of black, jagged 
clouds that the moment before had seemed one unbroken, 
impenetrable curtain. 

The lash’d ocean 
Xiike mountains in motion — 

the islands that seemed to be tossing and heaving 
like the billows themselves; the light-house on the 
most distant of them, towering like a shaft of gleam- 
ing silver, until it pierced the heavens; the little pin- 
nacles of rock, turned into gigantic peaks close and 
terrible, as they seemed to sway and reel in the 
grasp of the breakers ; the breakers themselves, 
broken into showers of crystal, as they rose high and 
fell; for one small atom of time this scene smote on 


170 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Sybil’s brain, and then all was the blackness of dark- 
ness again. The darkness seemed to envelope and press 
upon her. She felt as if she were taking part in the 
horrible strife of sea and winds, and as if she must 
shriek with them. She sank down on the top stair, 
pressing her hand over her ears and shutting her eyes 
close, for a moment, until her brain became less dazed ; 
and when she opened her eyes and was able to see the 
cheerful light in the hall and heard Lorrie’s and Clive’s 
voices coming from below, the horror passed. She rose 
slowly, then, thankful that no one had found her in that 
‘'temporary frenzy,” and went, with rather uncertain 
steps, to find Lynette. It had all passed in one minute, 
at most ; but she felt as if it might have been hours. 

The storm still raged with undiminished fury when 
they went to dinner, except that the lightning was less 
vivid, and the thunder broke in magnificent and more 
and more distant peals instead of in sharp, terrifying 
crashes. But Clive was in high spirits, and the rest 
were glad to be diverted by his merry sallies. 

After dinner they all agreed that a fire would be “ the 
very thing. ” It was decidedly chilly, and Clive declared 
that nothing kept a fellow’s spirits up when they were 
inclined to be down like a blazing, noisy fire. 

“This is just splendidly jolly,” he exclaimed, when 
they were seated round the red-tiled hearth, basking in 
the warmth and glow, with the tea-table beside Sybil. 
“ If the storm-spirits happen to look in, they’ll see how 
much nicer it is to be friendly and peaceable, like us, 
and maybe they’ll stop making such a row.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 


He prayeth best who loveth best 
All things both great and small ; 


For the dear God who loveth us, 
He made and loveth all. 


— Coleridge. 



ITTL-E by little, as the evening wore on, and the 


Li fire began to make a bed of ashes for itself, 
growing sleepy and murmurous, the talk round the 
red-tiled hearth became subdued, and at length ceased 
altogether. Lorrie was the first to lapse into silence, 
then Lynette grew pensive, and finally even Clive suc- 
cumbed ; and for many minutes not a word was spoken. 
Then Clive broke the silence with : 

“ Miss Trevyllian, I want to ask you a very serious 
question,” and seeing that Sybil looked startled, he 
added, “I do hope I didn’t waken you out of a nice 
little nap.” 

“ Oh, no! I wasn’t asleep,” Sybil replied, pressing her 
hand over her eyes. 

“You musn’t bother her with your foolish questions, 
Tiny,” Lynette said reproachfully. 

“I insist on hearing the question,” Sybil said with 
plajTul imperativeness. 

Lynette shook her head at Clive, but seeing that Sybil 
was waiting to hear, he began: “Well, supposing that 
we knew there was a ship in this stormy sea, close to 

these dangerous rocks — in frightful peril, in fact ” 

he paused in distress, for Sybil was sobbing. The peril 
that he was idly conjuring as the groundwork for an 


171 


172 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


idle speculation had been a terrible possibility, almost 
a reality, to her, ever since the horrors of the storm had 
been revealed by the lightning flash ; it had not been 
for a moment absent from her consciousness, and she 
had found it difficult to conceal from her companions 
that a weight rested upon her spirits ; but for their- sake 
as well as her own, she had made the effort, and suc- 
cessfully, to keep the scene in the background ; and it 
was not until the talk had ceased and she had nothing 
to do but think, that it came before her again in all its 
terrible distinctness. 

“Take this, dear,” Lorrie said, coming with a glass 
of wine, “ and don’t talk any more about these grew- 
some things.” 

Sybil soon recovered herself. “It was only,” she 
said, dreading yet wishing to explain, “that a flash 
of lightning showed me how terrible it all was, and 
I have been thinking about it so much ever since ; but 
now that we have spoken of it, it won’t seem so unbear- 
able, and I want to hear Clive’s question.” 

“I was only going to ask,” said Clive reluctantly, 
“ if you thought, in such a case, it would be any good 
to — pray ; for some good people to pray for the safety 
of the ship ; if you would think it any less likely to go 
to the bottom because they prayed.” 

After a moment’s silence, Sybil answered faintly, 
“No, Clive — I am afraid I should not.” 

Lorrie looked up inquiringly, and Lynette uttered an 
exclamation of surprise. 

“Then don’t you think it’s any good to pray about 
anything? Don’t you believe in prayer?” Clive asked. 

“Oh, yes,” answered Sybil earnestly, “indeed I do.” 

“ You would pray for rain when it’s too dry, and for 
less rain when it’s too wet, I suppose,” said Lorrie, in 
cynical tones. 


SYBIL TREVYLLlAN. 


173 


“ISTo — not that,” returned Sybil thoughtfully. 

“But — I don’t understand,” said Lynette; “if we 
may pray for anything, why mayn’t we pray for every- 
thing?” 

“We may — there is no reason why we shouldn’t, if 
it is a help and comfort to us.” 

“To us,” repeated Lynette in a puzzled voice. “But 
it’s the people in the ship, or anybody in distress, that 
we want to help; and if we can’t get what we ask for 
for them as well as for ourselves, I don’t see the good 
of praying at all.” 

“We cannot all feel and think quite the same about 
anything, even about prayer,” returned Sybil. “To 
some it is asking, and to others it is that and something 
more; and I believe that some people never ask for 
anything, and yet they really pray.” 

“That is very strange,” said Lynette. “I always 
thought what prayer was, was asking — thanking, too, 
of course. Don’t you ask for things?” she inquired 
timidly. 

“You would ask to have a dear friend who was ill 
made well, wouldn’t you?” asked Clive. 

“Yes — though I should feel it was wiser not to,” 
Sybil answered tremulously. 

“Oh, why?” cried Lynette, almost impatiently. 
“ What is the good of prayer, if we can’t ask for what 
we wish for most of all! Do tell us what 3^011 mean,” 
she begged. 

S^-bil replied, still tremulously : “ Whatever I might 
do — I should feel that it would be better to leave it all — 
we can see such a very little way — and our love is so 
selfish — we know so little what is best for those we 
love.” 

“ Then we oughtn’t to be unhappy if we lose those 
we love ; and when thej^ suffer we ought to think that 


SYBIL YREVYLLlAN. 


m 

it’s better so, and be glad,^' said Lynette, with rebellion 
in her tones. 

“We can’t do impossibilities,” replied Sybil. “We 
cannot help suffering when we lose those we love, and 
it is harder to be patient over the sufferings of those 
we love, than over our own ; and — God knows it all. ” 

“ What sort of things may we ask for, then?” said 
Lynette after a pause. 

“Miss Trevyllian said for everything,” put in Clive. 

“But I don’t think that is what she does herself,” 
returned Lynette. “ I do want to know — if I might, ” 
she added wistfully. 

“I ask for everything that I wish for,” replied Sybil 
with an effort, for it was something new for her to speak 
of her own feelings. “ I am not in the least consistent. 
I think,” she added reluctantly, “that I ask especially 
for what concerns myself, for things without which I 
couldn’t make the most of life, though I know they are 
always within my reach; asking helps one not to 
forget.” 

“I see,” said Lynette a little doubtfully ; and she 
added, leaning toward Sybil with a wistful smile, “ I 
think you are one of the most unselfish persons I ever 
knew, but — well, it does seem a little bit selfish to pray 
for one’s self more than for others. Think of that poor 
ship — in danger of going down into the dreadful deeps 
and perishing, and our never asking that it might be 
saved with all the sailors and passengers! You never 
would care to sing that beautiful ‘Hymn for Those at 
Sea,’ I suppose, would you?” 

“Oh, why not?” said Sybil, who had been singing 
it to herself at intervals, ever since the storm began. 

“But it’s a prayer for those in peril,” urged Lynette. 
“Oil, dear!” she sighed, as Sj^bil did not respond at 
once, “ I do wish we had only to pray, and have every 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


175 


sorrow and danger come to an end, especially for 
those we love !” 

There was a pause, and then Sybil said smilingly : 
“ What would you think if some one were always com- 
ing to you and asking you why you were not kinder to 
Clive, and begging you to love him?” 

“I should say they were very impertinent,” cried 
Lynette, and all were amused at the unexpected vehe- 
mence of her reply. “ I see what you mean,” she added 
thoughtfully ; “ only — you really do think we may ask 
for everything, even if we don’t know whether it would 
be well for us to have it or not, and we may tell God 
everything, though we know that he knows it al- 
ready?” 

“Yes, oh yes,” replied Sybil. 

“ He would not think it impertinent if I asked him 
to be kind to Clive,” Lynette added, with a mixture of 
tenderness and audacity. 

“ No, indeed not !” 

“What do you think of it all? You have let us have 
the discussion all to ourselves,” Clive said to Lorrie, 
who had lifted the curtain to peer into the darkness. 

“It’s as dark as the night outside, I should say,” 
Lorrie replied. “ I have been listening in the hope of 
gaining a little light on the subject from some of you — 
the vain hope, I am afraid I might say,” he added with 
a bright look at Lynette. 

“ It seems simpler than it did,” said Clive, who was 
quite ready to pin his faith to Sybil’s opinions. 

“ Nobody knows much, said Sybil softly, “ but there 
is the ‘Kindly Light’ to lead us on.” 

No one spoke for a minute or two, and then Lorrie 
said, looking at his watch ; “ Do you know, you dear 
young things, that it is nearly midnight? I shall set 
you a good example by going to bed instantly.” He 


176 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


shook hands with Lynette and Clive, kissed Sybil, and 
disappeared. 

“Now, little Linnet, what about you?” Sybil said. 
“Do you think the storm will keep you awake? Shall 
you feel lonely?” 

“ Oh, no, thank you ! I shall do as I did when it was 
stormy, coming home from India — make the wind and 
the sea into a grand chorus of men’s voices, and have 
them sing me to sleep.” 

“ There’ll be no engine and screw to mark the time,” 
suggested Clive. 

“ It will be all the nicer, for I used to want them to 
go faster or slower, to suit the words I made them sing, 
and they wouldn’t — the engine and screw had it all 
their own way.” 

“That was trying,” said Sybil. “You must knock 
on the wall if you feel lonely, and I shall hear you, 
my room is next to yours,” she added, seeing how white 
the little face was, and how big and intense the tawny 
eyes were. 


CHAPTER XXVr. 


Woe is me, 

A bitter voyage this to undergo 
Even i’ the telling, 

— Browning. 

’Tis a fair but piteous sight, 

Telling of a fairer day 
When that pallid cheek was bright. 

—R. H. 

T RAW LEY came the next morning while Sybil, 
Lorrie, and Clive were at their late breakfast. 
Lynette, having a headache, had been persuaded by 
Sybil to have hers in bed under Caroline’s supervision. 

“Good-morning, my dear,” was Trawley’s greeting, 
when Cook opened the door to him. 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Trawleij.,^'’ she returned severely, 
watching him with anything but approving eyes, as he 
tip-toed across her spotless kitchen floor, and spread 
out his hands to the fire. For some reason best known 
to herself Cook was always rather sharp with Trawley, 
but his good-nature was imperturbable. 

“ Hev ee seed annything ev the staorm ovver here, 
missus?” he asked presently, as Cook bustled about the 
stove, very busy and very grim. 

“Yes, we’ve seed and heerd it, too,” she replied 
shortly, putting a cocoa mat down beside him. “ Stand 
on that, if you please, Mr. Trawley.” 

“Cer’nly, my dear.” 

“Don’t you dear n^e,” Cook retorted, as Trawley . 
slowly set his heavy boots on the mat. 

12 177 


178 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ The wust stoarm I’ve iver knowed. An’ what a 
night it were ! Seemed ’s ef the housen an’ all on us ’u’d 
be swept into the sea. ” 

“ I dare say you were anxious enough about your- 
selves and your Tiousen’ and never gave a thought to 
my young ladies and gentlemen, that were worth the 
whole of you put together.” 

“ Yes, us ded, hev thofs fer all on ee ; but this ain’t like 
our bits housen, so dost on the hungry sea, as could 
tak’ us all in at wann mou’ful an’ niver feel the wuss 
for’t.” 

“And no great loss, neither,” returned Cook. 

“Aw, doan’t ee say sech ha’sh things, my dear. I’m 
sure ee wo’dn’ wish us drownt. But, missus, wull ee 
let me see the young leddy? cuz I’ve som’at very ’por- 
tant to tell her. ” 

“ See my young lady at tfiis unearthly hour !” cried 
Cook; “of course not; what are you thinking of? 
She’s having her breakfast.” 

“ I wo’dn’ disturb her on no account; I kin wait; an’ 
ef ee please. I’ll jest tak’ a cheer and set here tull she 
kin see me.” 

“You’d much better let me take your message and 
not bother her with any of your long rigamaroles, ” 
Cook said, eyeing Trawley severely while he helped 
himself to a chair, and sitting down, folded his arms 
and fixed his eyes meditatively on the ceiling. 

“ I bean’t goin’ to tell anny wann ’cep’n’ the young 
leddy hersel’ what I come fer. I kin wait,” he declared 
again with emphasis. Cook felt there was nothing 
more to be said, and proceeded with the scouring of 
her pots and pans. 

Presently the housemaid appeared, and Trawley ad- 
dressed her: “I say, missie, wull ee please go to the 
door an’ see ef ee kin see anny thing of my Esther? cuz 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


17d 

she were to come wi’ some ’at, an’ I’m afeard to go 
athurt the clane flure, it angerts the missus so.” 

This was said with a confidential air, and Lydia 
nodded as appreciating Trawley’s dread of Cook’s 
sharp tongue, and went to the door. “ I see nobody and 
nothing,” she announced, coming back from her quest. 

“Aw, but she’ll come,” Trawley said, with a myste- 
rious nod that set Cook scouring harder than ever. She 
would on no account have had him suspect that she 
was in the least curious as to his errand. 

Very soon Caroline came, bringing Lynette’s break- 
fast tray. “ Oh, you’re here,” she said when she saw 
Trawley. “ I hope you haven’t brought any bad news, 
because if you have, you needn’t have been in such a 
hurry with it,” she added good-naturedly. 

“ Oh,” cried Cook, “ill news don’t fiy fast enough to 
please some folks, but th^y must help it on with a pair 
of noisy feet an’ a busy tongue.” 

“ I’ll leave it to the young leddy, whether I did right 
or wrong to come, ef you’ll jest please tell her I’m 
here, ” said Trawley, with a glance out of the window. 

“I’ll go and ask if Miss Trevy Ilian will see you,” 
Caroline returned, knowing well that she would ; and a 
moment after she left the kitchen Sybil appeared. 

“ Good-morning, Trawley, I am glad you have come. 
I wished so much for news of you all after the storm. 
W hat a terrible night it was !” 

“Indeed, miss, I niver knowed a worse,” returned 
Trawley, careful to stand on the mat, even when pro- 
tected by Sybil’s presence, though Cook was so pleased 
to find that the news was to be divulged in her hearing 
that she would not have minded if he had stood on the 
table. 

“ But I hope no harm came to your houses or boats, ’ 
Sybil said kindly. 


180 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN, 


“I’m main thankful to say that ther’ cledn’, miss. 
Now an’ agin it ded seem’s ef we’d be all washed away, 
or as ef some mighty wind as come tearin’ along ’ud 
carry the island itsel’ ovver to ’Meriky; but thank the 
Lord, we're all safe.” 

“You haven’t hea^rd of any disasters, have you?” 
Sybil asked fearfully, noting the emphasis on the ‘we.’ 

“I jest wish in my heart I could say no, miss,” 
Trawley replied, looking at his feet, and out of the win- 
dow — anywhere but in Sybil’s troubled face. 

“Then something terrible has happened,” she said 
with deepening dread. 

“I’m main sorry to bring the gashly news, an’ I 
wo’dn’ ha’ troubled ee wi’ it, awnly — that ” 

“Tell me, Trawley,” Sybil said, glad to sit down in 
the chair Cook had placed for her, she was trembling so. 

“ Well, miss, there were a terrible wreck last night — 
leastways this mornin’ Trawley did not know how to 
soften his sad story, and so plunged into the worst of 
it. “ ’Twere light enough fer us to see the ship drove 
head foremost onto the rocks, an’ then swep’ away by 
the awful billows, an’ swallowed up.” 

“O Trawley,” gasped Sj^bil, faint with horror, 
“could nothing be done?” 

“No, miss — not a thing. ’Twere all over in less 
time nor I’ve been a-tellin’ it, most — leastways, the part 
on’t as we seed; wann minute she were there, an’ the 
next minute she were gone, an’ that’s the whole on’t. 
I niver see anny thing so quick ovver. We see her last 
night — leastways, we was main sure ’twere the same 
as went down,” he went on, as Sybil sat silent, with 
her hand over her eyes. “ Soon’s the weather begun to 
be nasty she got away, fast as iver she could go, but I 
s’pose she were druv back by the storm, it got wild 
so suddent, like, an’ she must ha’ been tossin’ an’ 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


181 


strugglin’ the whole night through, an’ now there bean’t 
so much as a masthead to be seen iv her. The night 
were as dark as ef the Lord had niver made sun ner 
moon ner star, an’ we dedn’ see no lights burnt, an’ 
I’m thinkin’ the awful noise ev the wind an’ the sea ’ud 
ha’ drownt the report ev a gun ef ther’d been wann 
fired.” 

Trawley went on as Sybil did not speak : 

“ We never tuk our clo’es off, an’ ther’ warn’t wann 
on us as wo’dn’ gladly ha’ helped the pore creaturs ef 
we could; but a boat couldn’t ha’ lived a second in that 
sea, let alone that we knowed naught about it tull 
’twere too late.” 

“ I can see how hopeless it was,” Sybil said faintly. 

“I’ve got som’at more to tell ee, miss, ef ee please, 
an’ that’s what I come fer, reely,” Trawley said, shift- 
ing from one foot to the other while Sybil lifted her 
head and waited in suspense. “ The Lord only knows 
how it happened — I s’ pose ’twere to be, an’ he must ’a’ 
showed my Esther wher’ to look, fer ’twere she see 
’em fust.” 

“Who? What?” asked Sybil, as Trawley paused. 

“A man — a gentleman, miss, by all the tokens, as 
were washed ashore, jest outside the Basin, wi’ a little 
child in his arms. They was father and son, we made 
sure.” 

Trawley paused, and Sybil waited, not daring to ask 
the question that trembled on her lips. 

“We took ’em to our cottage, an’ while the rest on us 
tried to bring the pore father to life, Esther tuk the 
little child an’ worked ovver him ’s ef he’d been her 
awn flesh an’ blood; an’ you niver see anny wann so 
pleased as she were when he drawed a little breath, an’ 
then cried a bit. She cried hersel’ for joy, an’ pity, 
too.” 


182 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“But the poor father — what of him?” asked Cook 
anxiously, as Trawley paused again. 

He shook his head. “He were dead — naught that 
annybody mout do could bring him to life.” 

The mournful silence was unbroken for a time. 
Then Trawley said : “ I were sure on’t soon’s iver I see 
him on the sands, stretched out, wi’ the child held dost; 
but Esther, she wo’dn’ believe it; an’ I helped do all 
ther’ were to be done; but ’twern’t to be — he saved his 
little son, but he couldn’ save hissel’ too.” 

“Poor father and poor mother and poor little son,” 
sighed Cook, wiping her eyes with her apron. “ I sup- 
pose the mother was ” 

“Never mind,” whispered Caroline quickly; “what 
we know is quite enough without supposing anything. ” 

Sybil’s eyes were aching with unshed tears. The 
scene that had flashed upon her the night before was 
making her feel almost as if she could realize to the 
full the horrors of the wreck. “ Where is the poor little 
child, Trawley?” she asked. 

“That’s what I come to tell ee, miss,” Trawley an- 
swered eagerly; but before he had time to say more, 
there came a knock. “That mout be Esther wi’ the 
child,” he said; and Cook hastened to open the door. 
Esther Trawley entered with something in her arms 
very like a bundle of shawls. “ Hast got the little un 
there, Essie?” Trawley asked. 

“Course! what else should it be?” she returned. 

“It’s the poor little fatherless child,” Trawley said to 
Sybil, who hurried to meet Esther and lead her to a 
seat. Then, kneeling beside her, she helped with trem- 
bling Angers to loosen the wraps with which the pre- 
cious burden was guarded from the chill in the air. 

“Bless the darlin’!” ejaculated Esther. “I’m main 
sure you’ll say, as we does, that he’s the prettiest little 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


183 


dear that iver was; though, as you’ll see, he ain’t 
dressed like the little gentleman he is, but in some poor 
bits o’ things I had laid by, as was my little Sammy’s 
as died a year ago come Michaelmas — the last but one 
of seven.” Esther sighed. “There!” she said in a 
whisper, as the last wrap revealed the little face, with 
the eyes closed in sleep ; “ ain’t he like a little prince of 
the blood, wi’ his gold curls an’ his sweet little mouth? 
an’ his eyes are as blue as the sky, as you’ll see when 
he opens ’em.” 

No one spoke, while all gazed sorrowfully upon the 
pale, sweet face of the little sleeper. Sybil put a finger 
through one of the soft rings of sunny hair, and pressed 
her tremulous lips, oh, so tenderly, on the dimpled hand 
that lay in Esther’s. Suddenly she leaned her head 
against Esther’s knee and wept. 

Some of Esther’s sympathetic tears fell on the little 
sleeper’s face, and he stirred, making some sweet, 
childish sounds, and Sybil bent over him. The blue 
eyes opened and gazed wonderingly at her, and a shad* 
owy smile flitted over the baby features. 

“Poor, dear little child!” she murmured, tenderly 
kissing the soft cheek; “we will love you so dearly! 
There never was a little boy loved more than you shall 
be. You shall be happy, too, if care and love can make 
you so.” How her heart yearned over the little stran- 
ger, and how she longed to make him understand that 
he was among friends ! 

“I’m afeard he don’t know English, miss,” Esther 
said sorrowfully ; “ it were a French steamer, we think. ” 

Sybil made no response, for the child was looking 
steadily into her eyes as if trying, in baby fashion, 
to find the solution of a mystery there. At some sud- 
den noise he raised his head and gazed eagerly round 
the room and into the face of each one who stood by ; 


184 


SYBIL TBEVYLLIAN. 


but evidently not finding what he sought, he lay back 
on Esther’s arm; the sweet lips quivered, and tears 
gathered on the sunny lashes. 

“He’s looking for his papa and mamma, poor lamb; 
and to think he’ll never see them more,” Cook said 
in a whisper to Trawley, while Sybil did her utmost to 
soothe him. She was tempted to talk to him in French 
or German, thinking of Esther’s suggestion; but she 
felt that, with such a little child, it was far more the 
tones and the looks, than the words, that sufficed. 

The tears were soon dried, but she could not win even 
the shadow of a smile from him again. The little face 
lay still and white against Esther’s breast, the blue 
eyes watching Sybil languidly, as she tried to divert 
him. 

“ Sybil, what’s up, that you are depriving us so long 
of the light of your presence?” asked Lorrie’s voice 
suddenly at the kitchen door. 

There was no answer, though Lorrie was certain he 
heard Sybil speaking; so he opened the door further and 
put his head inside. A surprising scene met his eyes. 

Sybil had taken the little stranger on her own lap, 
and sat with her cheek resting on his curls, while she 
held his little hand in hers, and talked to him in soft, 
caressing tones. Trawley and Esther and Caroline 
and Cook stood looking on with absorbed interest. So 
absorbed were they all, that no one knew Lorrie was 
there until the child lifted his head, watching him 
wistfidly as he drew near. “Who is it?” he asked, 
looking curiously down at the little stranger. 

“We doan’t know, sir, who he is — more’s the pity,” 
replied Esther. 

“Where did he come from? Where did you find 
him?” asked Lorrie, wondering that nobody seemed 
inclined to give him any information on the subject. 


SYBIL TREVELLIAN. 


185 


‘‘Well, sir, you see,” began Trawley, “a steamer 
went down in the stoarm, an’ the pore little child were 
the awnly wann as were saved alive, so fur as we 
know.” 

“Good heavens! Trawley, is that true?” exclaimed 
Lorrie, greatly shocked and puzzled as well. “ The 
only one^ do you say? how is that possible?” 

“ His father, sir, saved him in his arms. They was 
both washed up just outside the Basin. The father 
had a life-belt on, an’ managed to save the little child, 
but hisseT were dead.” 

“Good God! what a tragedy!” ejaculated Lorrie, 
half to himself, watching the child with sorrowful 
interest. 

“They bean ’t his own clo’s, sir,” Esther explained, 
- thinking he might be drawing wrong conclusions from 
the little one’s being clad in homespun and gray knit 
stockings; “they belonged to our pore little Sammy 
that died, an’ I were forced to put ’em on him, for he 
had naught but his little ni’-gownd on when we took 
him from his father’s arms — wonnerful fine it were, 
too.” 

“’Cep’n the blanket he were wropped up in,” sug- 
gested Trawley. 

“To be sure,” returned Esther; “but I was meanin’ 
as to clo’s. You can see he’s a little gentleman, sir,” 
she said to Lorrie. 

“ He’s a handsome little fellow,” replied Lorrie. He 
was impatient to hear the details of the tragedy, as far 
as they were known, but he felt he could not ask for 
them now. He stood silently by, watching the child 
and Sybil’s tender nursing of him. 

“ See if he will eat a bit,” Caroline said, coming with 
some warm bread and milk ; “ he surely ought to have 
something by this time.” 


186 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ ’Deed he ought,” echoed Esther ; “ it’s little he would 
eat afore I came wi’ him;” but the child turned lan- 
guidly away from the spoon Caroline held to his lips. 

“ Do take it, darling, ” said Sybil coaxingly . 

“No, thank oo,” he said gently, pushing the spoon 
away. They were the first words he had spoken, and 
Sybil and Esther exchanged a quick glance of satisfac- 
tion. 

“ What shall we do?” sighed Syihl, as she looked into 
the wan little face; “he is so ill, poor darling.” 

“ Don’t ee worrit eesel’, miss,” said Esther soothingly. 
“It’s awnly nat’ral that such a little child should be 
weak-like arter all as have happened to him; an’ if I 
mout make so free, I should say ’twere sleep an’ quiet 
he needs. He’ll soon come to hissel’ when he’s had 
plenty sleep, so doan’t ee grievT) an’ go thinkin’ he’s ill.” 

“ I have no doubt Mrs. Trawley is right,” said Lor- 
rie; “he is exhausted, poor little chap, and sleep will 
restore him sooner than anything. ” 

“Then I will take him up to my room,” said Sybil, 
“and put him snugly in bed.” 

“Give him to me,” Lorrie said; “he is too heavy for 
you to carry. Don’t go until I have seen you again, 
Trawley.” 

“No, sir, I wunnot,” Trawley responded. 

Lynette and Clive met them in the hall, having heard 
the story of the wreck and the presence of the one 
lonely little survivor from Lydia. As they came 
eagerly toward Lorrie, the child raised his head quickly, 
hut hid his face again, after one scrutinizing glance. 

“Pretty darling — poorest, sweetest pet!” Lynette 
murmured, softly kissing the little hand that hung 
over Lorrie’s shoulder. “ Are you going to take him 
upstairs?” she asked regretfully. 

“He is tired and sleepy, and not very well,” Lorrie 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


187 


replied, “ and Sybil is going to put him to bed, to have 
a nice long nap — isn’t that so, little one?” 

“When I wake up will Dotta be here?” the child 
asked, suddenly lifting his face to look into Lorrie’s 
with hope in his languid eyes ; “ I do want Dotta velly 
badly.” 

What could Lorrie say? it was such a revelation of 
the grief and longing of the sore little heart. 

“Wouldn’t you like a ride on Tommy?” cried Lynette 
desperately, her eyes full of tears. “ Tommy is the 
nicest little donkey you ever saw — any little boy would 
like to have a ride on such a dear donkey as he is.” 

The eyes brightened for a moment; then the child 
turned his head away from Lynette listlessly. “ No, 
thank oo,” he said; and after a pause, “I do want 
Dotta — where is Dotta?” 

Lorrie looked anxiously for Sybil, who had disap- 
peared when they left the kitchen, feeling that it was 
beyond his highest skill to deal with such childish de- 
spair, and was thankful to hear her speaking from the 
top of the stairs. She had been giving Caroline some 
things for Esther, that she felt would be needed for the 
proper laying out of the dead. “ W ill you come, Lyn- 
ette?” she said, and Lynette gladly assented, and fol- 
lowed Lorrie to Sybil’s room. 

“ What an awful thing !” ejaculated Clive, when 
Lorrie joined him a minute or two later. 

“ Awful ? I should think so, ” responded Lorrie ; “ one 
is inclined to say that everything in this world is ar- 
ranged with a view to the greatest amount of suffering,” 
he added almost angrily. 

“Oh, no! we can't believe that,” cried Clive earn- 
estly ; “ we must ” 

“Who is ‘Dotta’ that the little fellow talks about, I 
wonder,” interrupted Lorrie a little roughly. 


188 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“I should think it must have been his nurse,” said 
Clive ; “ a nurse that he was awfully fond of ; but even 
then it seems odd that he should want her so badly 
and not once ask for his father, that brought him ashore 
in his ‘dead arms,’ as Lydia said, which shows how 
devoted he must have been to the little chap.” 

“Well, let’s have Trawley in, and see what he can 
tell us. I’ve heard nothing.” 

“I say, let’s have his wife in too,” cried Clive, as 
Lorrie went to summon Trawley ; “ she must be a trump, 
you know, for Lydia says it was she saw them first, 
and ran and dragged them into a safe place. If she 
hadn’t, they’d have been washed away by the next big 
sea.” 

“ Is that so? All right, we’ll have them both. Come 
in,” Lorrie said, as the Trawleys appeared at the door; 
“ I am afraid even you can’t tell us very much about 
this miserable business. What could have tempted 
that wretched steamer to venture so near these rocks, 
and in the face of such a storm?” 

“It was mighty queer, sir,” said Trawlej", “though 
the stoarm ded come on turrible suddent an’ fierce.” 

“ What time was it when she went down?” 

“Just arter three o’clock, sir — weren’t it, Essie?” 

“ Yes, it were. I were just agoin’ to make up the 
fire, so’s we could hev some hot coffee, we was that 
perished wi’ cold, when there come a cry from outside 
as set me a-tremblin’ an’ my teeth a-chatterin’. 
’Tweren’ trainin’ then, but the wind were blowin’ awful 
an’ the sea — well, they talks o’ waves as high as 
mountains, but I’m main sure ther’ ain’t a mountain 
on the face o’ the airth as high as them as was rampin’ 
an’ roarin’ then, and had been the whole night long. I 
soon see what the cry were fer, though ’ tweren ’t rightly 
daylight, only just light enough fer us to make out the 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


189 


misfortent’ steamer dost on the rocks, strugglin’ an’ 
strainin’ in them turrible seas. All on a suddent she 
reared up on end, druv’ by the ’rageous billows, an’ 
down she fell on the rocks a minute arter. ’Twere 
awful, sir,” Esther said, with a shudder. “Seemed 
a’most as ef we could hear the crash o’ her goin’ to 
pieces above the horrid noise o’ the wind an’ sea; an’ 
in another breath, like, she’d been swallowed up, an’ we 
niver see her anny more.” 

“Of course nothing could be done,” Lorrie said, 
breaking the silence that followed Esther’s story ; “ the 
only wonder is that even one life was saved. Where is 
the poor father now?” 

“He’s lyin’ out in our cottage, sir,” Esther replied. 
“ It were a sorry sight — his pore head an’ face was so 
cut about an’ bruised an’ the child never to have got a 
scratch ! he were wropped up that keerful, an’ tied so 
close to the pore father’s breast — it were beautiful to 
see and Esther’s ready tears came at the thought of it. 

“Well, thank you very much,” Lorrie said; “some 
of us will come down to your place this afternoon and 
if there is anything we can do you must let us know. 
I suppose my sister has told you that we want to bear 
the expenses of the funeral.” 

“ Yes, sir, she have, thank you kindly; an’ very good 
an’ kind it is of you an’ Miss Trevyllian, I’m sure, 
sir,” said Esther heartily. 

“Not at all; it’s the least we can do for the little 
child’s father and for an ill-fated fellow-creature — and 
the most, unfortunately,” Lorrie returned. 

“An’ ef ee please, sir,” said Esther, dropping a 
curtsey, and with tears in her eyes,. “me an’ Timothy’s 
that grateful to ee fer savin’ our Josey, the last of 
seven ! we doan’t know how to thank ee, an’ that’s the 
truth,” 


190 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Her eyes and voice were eloquent, if her words were 
not. 

“ ’Deed we doan’t, sir,” echoed Trawley. 

“Oh, there’s nothing to thank me for,” answered 
Lorrie, with an amused recollection of the scene ; “ the 
little chap would have scrambled out of the water him- 
self, I dare say, if I hadn’t happened to be on hand, 
while I should have had to go hungry if you hadn’t 
taken pity on me, and given me all that milk and ex- 
cellent bread and butter. I consider that the obligation 
is all on my side.” 

“ And I haven’t half thanked you, Trawley, for help- 
ing to rescue my sister and me that day,” put in Clive 
eagerly. 

“That were all the young leddy’s doin’, sir,” said 
Esther; “Timothy told me all about that, an’ ’tain’t 
him as is to be thanked for’t, nor me fer the little sup 
o’ milk an’ bread,” she added, with a smile and another 
curtsey to Lorrie, as she and Trawley departed. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants ; 
No angel, but a dearer being, all di^it 
In angel instincts. 


Tennyson. 



ORRIE and Clive went on discussing tlie various 


Jj questions that suggested themselves in regard to 
the wreck, not the least interesting being the chances 
of their gaining any clew that would enable them to 
find the child’s surviving friends. 

“ It would be an odd thing if he were never claimed, 
but were left to yours and your sister’s care altogether,” 
remarked Clive. 

“ That seems very unlikely,” returned Lorrie, “unless 
all his relations and friends happened to be on the ill- 
fated ship, which again seems unlikely.” 

“What steps shall you take? I suppose you will do 
something about hunting them up, in case he has any ; 
how shall you set to work?” 

“I am sure I don’t know; I haven’t thought. There 
is always the vulgar expedient of advertising, but I 
don’t see that we need be in a hurry about it ; we can wait 
a day or two and see what turns up.” 

“ If the poor little chap were a few years older, he 
could tell us all about it himself,” said Clive, “but he’s 
much too much of a baby ; only two or so, I should say, 
shouldn’t you?” 

“About that,” replied Lorrie. 

“We can ask him his name when he’s a bit stronger,” 
said Clive ; “ he’s a bright little fellow and might tell 


191 


192 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


US. I thought I heard him crying,” he added, going to 
the stairs to listen. 

“ What’s the good of listening?” asked Lorrie. “ If 
he is crying why should you want to know it?” 

“Well, he is, then, worse luck,” returned Clive dole- 
fully; “just that same pitiful cry he gave when you 
had him. I suppose he was watching every face then, 
to see if it wasn’t Dotta, or his father or some other 
friend. Do you know, I believe the father must have 
deliberately thrown himself into the sea with the child, 
as the only chance — of course expecting to come out of 
it alive himself, too, poor fellow.” 

“Very likely; but what about the mother, if there 
was one?” queried Lorrie, “and there may have been 
half a dozen other children, and there was ‘Dotta,’ 
whoever that may have been; were they all left to 
their fate? But we may go on guessing indefinitely 
and never come within a thousand miles of the truth, 
and not know it if we did. He isn’t crying now,” he 
added, having sauntered to the door, “ and here’s your 
sister. ” 

“ Hullo, Tiny ! come and tell us how the little fellow 
is now. Isn’t Miss Trevy Ilian coming down?” 

“Yes, very soon.” 

“ Is the child asleep?” asked Lorrie. 

“Yes, I am thankful to say,” replied Lynette fer- 
vently. “ I never imagined anything so sad as it all is.” 

“ When he is well he will be merry and happy, ” said 
Lorrie cheer ingly. “ That is one of the advantages of 
being a child ; if his sorrows are keen, they are soon 
over.” 

“ It isn’t alone the poor little child that one thinks 
of,” said Lynette sadly, “but the wreck and all the 
awful things that must have happened besides the death 
of the poor father and mother.” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


193 


“You ought to have stayed down here with Clive 
and me, and let us amuse you and keep you from 
thinking of all these dreary things,” said Lorrie, his 
eyes resting gently on the sorrowful little face. 

Lynette gave him a quick, questioning look; he 
smiled back, and she was certain the smile was a mock- 
ing one; the memory of yesterday’s adventures made 
her morbidly sensitive as to his behavior to her. 

“ Why should you think I ought to be amused?” she 
demanded, with flushed cheeks and flashing eyes. “ I’m 
not a child, that I can be diverted by nonsensical talk 
and made to forget that there is misery in the world — 
indeed I can’t imagine a worse world.” 

“ I didn’t know you were such a pessimist. Miss Gra- 
ham, ” Lorrie said, thinking he had never seen childish 
tempers become any one so well. Clive always declared 
that Tiny’s eyes were never so splendid as when she 
was angry. 

“Girls always enjoy being miserable,” Clive re- 
marked. “ They’ll find something to cry over in books, 
if they haven’t anything else handy. I’ve seen Tiny 
nearly cry her eyes out over ‘Lalla Rookh’ and ” 

“ Hush, Tiny ! how can you be so disagreeable?” cried 
Lynette, in great vexation. 

“Those are Mr. Tony Lumpkin’s sentiments,” re- 
marked Lorrie. “ Your brother is only quoting from 
that sapient young gentleman. Miss Graham.” 

“Yes, I quite agree with his views about girls liking 
to be miserable,” returned Clive calmly. 

“ I hope you are not teasing your sister, Clive, ” said 
Sybil, coming on the scene at the moment, and seeing 
Lynette’s disturbed face and Clive’s quizzical eyes. 

“ Of course not,” Clive replied, looking very innocent. 
“ I never tease her — at least ^hardly ever. ’ ” 

“He is a very trying boy, as I am sure you have 
13 


194 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


seen,” Lynette said, trying to speak steadily and care- 
lessly. 

“ And as you must have seen. Tiny is ” 

“ Lunch has been on the table for at least ten min- 
utes,” interposed Lorrie, “and must be nearly, if not 
quite, stone cold; hadn’t we better proceed to eat it?” 

“ Did the little chap get happier before he went to 
sleep?” asked Clive, as they seated themselves. 

“lam afraid not,” Sybil replied. “I only hope he 
will sleep a long time ; it is such a comfort to feel that 
he has forgotten his griefs for the present. ” 

“What a little angel he is!” said Clive. “I am 
really afraid he won’t live, he’s so much nicer than 
other children !” 

“Don’t say such horrid things. Tiny,” said Lynette 
reproachfully. 

“That notion is exploded. Miss Graham,” said Lor- 
rie; “it is the bad, rude children that die nowadays.” 

“ How lucky that the explosion took place before I 
came on the scene !” said Clive with great unction. 

“You and Clive will go to the Trawleys’, by and by, 
won’t you, Lorrie, dear,” said Sybil, when they had fin- 
ished lunch. “ It would be well to see that all is prop- 
erly arranged, though I am sure Trawley and Esther 
will do their best.” 

“We told them we would pay them a visit this after- 
noon,” Lorrie replied. “Won’t you and Miss Graham 
come with us? Wouldn’t a walk be a good thing for 
you both?” 

“I would rather not leave the poor little child to- 
day,” Sybil replied, “but you might take Lynette,” 
with a questioning smile at the serious little face beside 
her. 

“May I stay with you?” said Lynette eagerly. “I 
should like it a great deal better. ” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN, 


195 


“May yon? of course you may, Lynette,” Sybil said, 
clasping the hand that had been laid on hers. 

“You spoil her!” cried Clive; “I shan’t be able to 
manage her at all when I have her to myself again.” 

Sybil’s feeling for Lynette had come to be that of a 
devoted elder sister in that short time; and Lynette’s 
feeling for her was not far short of worship. 

“You never took such a desperate fancy to anybody 
before. Tiny,” Clive had said to her that morning, 
when he went to pay her a flying visit on flnding she 
was not coming down to breakfast. 

“Because I never knew Sybil before,” was the reply. 

“You hardly ever have cared in the least for girls, 
and now, in less than two days, you are simply wild 
about /ler.” 

“ Who was wild first? Who praised Sybil to the skies 
before he had known her anything like two days?” de- 
manded Lynette. 

“ Yes, and who has the best right to her now for that 
very reason?” asked Clive. 

“ O Tiny, dear, don’t be tiresome, there’s a darling. 
I won’t take her away from you. I couldn’t, if I tried ; 
she never would go back on a friend, but she is so sweet 
and beautiful that I can’t help adoring her.” Clive 
stood by the bed, hands deep in his pockets, with a 
very dismal expression of countenance. “ Come, Tiny !” 
said Lynette, “ let’s make a solemn compact to share 
her between us ! She shall be just as much your friend 
as if I didn’t exist, and you ivill let her be mine too.” 

“ I never wanted any girl for a friend before, ” grum- 
bled Clive ; “ and it is hard lines that you should want 
her too.” 

Lynette had a jealous pang herself for an instant, but 
she felt it was not the moment to indulge it. 

“ Do shake hands on the compact,” she begged. 


196 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“You might be friends with her brother,” suggested 
Clive, as he took the offered hand. 

“ The very idea!” cried Lynette. “ No; we will both 
be friends with Sybil, and never be jealous of each 
other.” 

“ All right,” Clive responded gloomily. “ How came 
you to call her Sybil?” 

“She called me Lynette, and asked me to call her 
Sybil.” 

“ I suppose I must go on forever calling her Miss 
Trevyllian,” Clive muttered as he left the room, having 
been summoned to breakfast. 

When all was settled in reference to the visit to the 
cottage, Sybil said to Lynette, “ I am going upstairs 
now to see if the little boy is asleep, and if I don’t come 
back, you will come up to me when Clive and Lorrie 
are off, won’t you?” 

Ljmette assented, though she would much rather 
have gone with Sybil then. She seated herself on the 
corner of the sofa, and was absently watching the 
showers of spray falling over the cliffs in the distance, 
when Barty came cantering across the room, and sprang 
into her lap, settling himself calmly for an after-lunch 
siesta. 

“ What a cat !” cried Clive. “ He’s got a small devil 
in him, I’m sure.” 

“ All cats have,” said Lorrie. “ And you know, don’t 
you. Miss Graham, that every cat has three tails?” 

“No, I don’t,” replied Lynette, without looking up. 

“ Shall I prove it to you?” 

“Yes — if you can.” 

“ I can, by the most logical process.” 

Avery old chestnut,” remarked Clive, with a shrug 
of his shoulders. 

“I do wish, Tiny, that you wouldn’t be always using 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


19 ? 


the slang you learned from those American boys,” ex- 
postulated Lynette. 

“ Tiny, how long is it since you went back on those 
nice boys — no, 1 am a ‘ nice ’ boy — but on those jollj^ 
boys, and their jolly slang? Methinks it is not so very 
long since I heard some of it from your own sweet lips. 
But just you listen to Mr. Trevyllian’s logic.” 

“Well, you will admit. Miss Graham, won’t you, 
that no cat has two tails?” said Lorrie, seating himself 
beside Ljmette on the sofa. 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you must admit that every cat has one tail 
more than no cat.” 

“Yes.” 

“Well, there you are,” cried Clive; “though why 
stop at ‘ three tails '? why not nine legs? and so on ad 
libitum. Logic is a rum thing, isn’t it? But you are 
convinced, aren’t you. Tiny?” 

Lynette’s only answer was a derisive little smile. She 
was not half pleased at Lorrie’s attempt to amuse her. 

“Do you know,” said Lorrie suddenly, starting up as 
from a dream, “ I think we had better be off, Graham. 
If we go at once we can see the Trawleys and he back 
in time for Sybil and your sister and the small boy to 
take an airing.” 

“All right,” said Clive, “I’ll go and change these 
transcendent slippers for my vulgar boots, and be with 
you in the twinkling of an eye.” He paused only to 
survey the slippers, which were of Sybil’s handiwork, 
and disappeared. 

“Are you in a hurry to get back to St. Hilda’s?” 
Lorrie asked, watching Lynette’s hand as it idly stroked 
Barty’s fluffy coat. “ Will it matter much if the sea is 
impracticable for a few days longer, and keeps you a 
prisoner?” 


198 SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 

“ It only matters, as far as Tiny and I are concerned ; 
because we are to meet papa and mamma in Edin- 
burgh soon, and we don’t quite know when; we might 
have to go at a moment’s notice. ” Lynette spoke with 
a quaint little assumption of dignity which was the 
effect of her conviction that Lorrie regarded her as a 
sulky child whom he must humor and amuse, and her 
wish to impress him to the contrary. “Papa and 
mamma are in Norway now, or just on their way back. 
I am not quite sure — but we shall have letters soon; 
perhaps they are waiting for us now at St. Hilda’s.” 

“Are you to he long in Scotland?” 

“ Oh dear, yes !” cried Lynette with such a deep sigh 
and in such a voice of despair that Lorrie could not 
help laughing. 

“ It is not in the least a laughing matter,” she said, 
reproachfully; “we shall be there until October visit- 
ing a lot of mamma’s relatives whom we have never 
seen — prim old great-aunts and grim old great-uncles 
in dreary old great houses. I believe there isn’t a 
creature among them that’s young, like Tiny and me.” 

“Do you think any of them are as old as I am?” 
asked Lorrie seriously, but with mischievous eyes. 

She looked at him an instant with a puzzled face, and 
then laughed and blushed, as she recalled what she had 
said to him on their way to the Nest, when they were 
talking about herself and Clive being too young to have 
love affairs. 

“I am afraid some of them are,” she answered, with 
a touch of playful audacity. “Don’t you think it is 
hard?” 

“ How do you know that they are old and grim if you 
have never seen them?” asked Lorrie. 

“We have always been hearing about them, and ever 
since we came from India mamma has been threateniiiir 

o 


SYBIL TRE}n^LLIAN. 


199 


to take us there, and it has been put off just because it 
was sure to be so dreary, I believe, and now it has got 
to be done, and Clive and I are in despair.” 

“ It does sound pretty dismal, I must admit, but it 
may not be as bad as you fear,” Lorrie said gently. 
“Well, are you ready?” he asked, as Clive appeared. 

“Not quite — hullo! what’s the matter. Tiny?” he 
cried, as he came toward her; “and the cat, too; he 
seemed to have got a fit; he flew out of the window as 
if he’d been shot out of a gun. What had you been 
doing to each other?” 

“Let me see,” said Lorrie anxiously, as Lynette, 
with crimson cheeks, hid her left hand behind her. 

“No, I shall not,” she declared vehemently; “it is 
nothing at all.” 

“ You shall let ine see,” said Clive with determina- 
tion ; and he drew the hidden hand forth to view, dis- 
closing a fiery-looking scratch all along the delicate 
wrist and palm. 

“The wretch!” cried Clive; “he deserves to be 
thrashed.” 

“ So he does, the brute !” exclaimed Lorrie. “ I am 
so sorry.” 

“ He isn’t a wretch nor a brute, and he doesn’t de- 
serve to be thrashed,” Lynette declared, wrapping her 
hand about with her handkerchief. “It isn’t the first 
time I’ve been scratched by a cat, as you know very 
well, Tiny, and it’s nothing to make such a fuss over ; 
he didn’t mean to hurt me.” 

“How did it happen?” asked Clive, Lorrie having 
run upstairs in great haste. 

“Why, I had been stroking him and playing with 
his ears, as Sybil does, and I suppose I rubbed him too 
hard, or the wrong way, or perhaps I stopped altogether 
— I really don’t know, and what does it matter? I am 


200 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


going up to Sybil now she pretended not to see that 
Lorrie, who came back at the moment, had brought a 
bottle and a strip of linen with him. 

“Not until I have bound up your hand,” he said, 
making his arrangements. 

“ I should think your sister was surprised to find that 
you weren’t gone yet,” Lynette remarked, as Lorrie 
came with his bandage, and a bit of lint wet in the 
weakest solution of carbol and oil. 

“ I didn’t see her. I helped myself to these things,” 
Lorrie returned. 

“ That reminds me !” said Clive, “ the reason why I 
was so long getting ready, or rather, not getting ready, 
was that one of my boot-laces came to hopeless grief ; 
look !” and he held up a foot of which the boot was de- 
void of a lacing, “ and when I came down to beg for 
one, my attention was diverted.” 

“ You shall have one as soon as I have bound up your 
sister’s hand — or you might ask Sybil for one; that 
would save time.” 

“Thanks! I will, while you perform your surgical 
operation,” and off he went. 

Lynette felt very much inclined to run away, too; 
but with the conviction that here was a chance to be- 
have like a reasonable being, she yielded the wounded 
hand to Lorrie, ready to weep because she could not 
prevent its trembling. 

“This will make it smart, just at first,” Lorrie said, 
as he placed the bit of lint on the scratch, “ but you 
won’t mind that, will you?” 

“ I shall ! I do !” she cried out ; but the next instant 
she forgot the pain, in the mortification of seeing that 
one of the sudden tears the smarting had forced from 
her eyes had fallen on Lorrie’s hand. She did not see 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


201 


that he quietly lifted the hand to his lips, on which the 
tear had fallen. 

He wound the bandage round the hand so neatly, 
and fastened it so so securely, that Lynette could not 
but admire and commend the performance. 

“You ought to be a surgeon,” she said with a shy 
smile. 

“ I ought to be many things that I am not, ” he re- 
turned. “ I am resolved to have something or die in 
the attempt,” he added, under his breath, as he released 
her hand. The look with which his eyes met hers filled 
her with perplexity, and somehow prevented her asking 
him what he had said. 

“Here I am at last,” Clive announced, just then. 
“That nice Caroline gave me the boot-lace, as your 
sister had the little boy in her lap. He’s awake and 
seems better. Now we may he off, I should think, as 
the operation is finished ; a very tidy piece of work, ” 
he added, with an approving nod, as he inspected the 
bandaged hand. 

At odd times during the rest of the day Lynette 
thought of Lorrie’s strange look, but could make noth- 
ing of it all. She was only sure of one thing — that the 
spell which had been over her ever since she came to 
St. Clements was broken, and that she might hope her 
childish follies would be forgotten — if only the sea did 
not get smooth too soon. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

That was strange, but this is stranger still. 

—Shelley. 

Sweet is true love that puts an end to pain. 

— Tennyson. 

ORRIE and Clive walked briskly on. The air 



Jj was fresh and sparkling after the storm, and St. 
Clements and the neighboring islands, green as emeralds 
and dotted with patches of late golden gorse, shone like 
jewels in the sunlight. In every direction, boundless 
and tumultuous, stretched the sea, breaking against the 
rocks and cliffs in dazzling foam and spray ; and the 
sands that fringed the bays and coves gleamed like sil- 
ver. Over all smiled a sky of cloudless blue, reflected 
in the waves, while sea-birds floated through the still 
air, flashing their white wings in the sunshine, like 
spirits of gladness. 

“ By Jove !” cried Clive, when on reaching the top of 
the ridge they stood a minute or two, silently enjoying 
the wonderful sight; “isn’t this gorgeous! What a 
scene for a painter !” 

Lorrie laughed. “ I should say a man might as well 
try to paint happiness or a dying groan.” 

“ A what?"' asked Clive. 

“ Some poet makes a painter who has been torturing 
an old man in the interests of his art, cry when he has 
done him to death: ‘Gods! if I could but paint a dying 
groan !’ ” ^ 

“Pleasant person to meet in a dark wood in th^ 
202 ’ 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


203 


night!” ejaculated Clive. “And you think an artist 
could as easily have done that as this?” he added with 
a comprehensive wave of the hand. 

“As put all this glory of light and color on canvas? 
yes, just about.” 

“Maybe,” returned Clive; “but if I were an artist 
I should certainly try it, ’cause what’s the use of being 
an artist at all if Nature’s going to get the better of you 
like that, not let you have her best things? and if I 
couldn’t do it, I’d just burn. my brushes, and turn my 
hand to something else.” 

“ I am afraid the brushes would have to go,” returned 
Lorrie. 

As they drew near the village Esther Trawley espied 
them from the distance, and hurried away to find her 
husband. Clive lingered behind Lorrie for the further 
consideration of a “ specimen” that had impressed them 
both as they reached the first cottage. 

It was a girl of about twelve, with a shock of fiaming 
red hair that stood out in wild, wiry tangles. She had 
light blue eyes, with a plentiful sprinkling of brown 
freckles, and was dressed in a very coarse, very scant, 
and very dirty stuff gown, with wooden shoes and no 
stockings. She was sitting on the door-step as they, 
passed, with her elbows on her knees, her chin resting 
in the palm of one hand ; in the other hand she held a 
huge piece of bread, of which she took a bite, and went 
on munching, while she eyed Lorrie and Clive with 
stolid interest. 

Lorrie walked on, after one brief glance, having de- 
clared her to be a “ little monster but Clive lingered, 
as he informed Lorrie, “ to see whether it had the gift 
of speech.” ‘“Good-morning,” he said, by way of 
beginning conversation; but there was no response — 
only a steady, winkless stare. “Nice day after the 


204 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


storm.” This essay was answered by an impish moue 
that set Clive off into a fit of laughter, and he started 
on to overtake Lorrie, feeling that his investigations 
had been satisfactory. The next instant he was hit 
between the shoulders by something very hard and 
pretty heavy; and turning quickly, he saw that the 
girl had vanished, but one of her wooden shoes lay on 
the ground beside him. 

“ She hit me in the back with that^ the little devil !” 
he cried, laughing and giving the shoe a kick toward 
Lorrie, who had only time to remark, “Serves you 
right,” when they were joined by Trawley and Esther; 
and they thought no more about the little adventure at 
the time. 

“We heven’t found annything new, sir, an’ it’s my 
belief we niver shall,” said Trawley. 

“I bean’t so sure,” said Esther. “Some’at mout be 
washed up arter days had gone by.” 

“ An’ what ud be the good, unless it were the name 
o’ the ship, or some’at o’ that?” 

“I am afraid you are right,” Lorrie replied, and 
after a little more talk as to possibilities, Clive asked, 
with solemn eyes, if they could see the dead man. 

“ It wouldn’t be kind not to, would it?” he said to 
Lorrie, who replied with evident reluctance that he 
supposed it would not. 

“You’ll excuse my pore place, sir, I hope. It ain’t 
fit fer a gentleman to be ’.aid out in, ner fer you an’ the 
young gentleman to come to. ” Esther said this as she 
led the way past the silent group that had gathered 
near them. 

When they reached the cottage, with its climbing 
roses and clematis all torn away from the little porch 
by the storm, and shorn of their beauty, Esther paused. 
“You heven’t forgot, hev ee, sir, what we told ee ’bout 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


205 


the pore face an’ head bein’ all cut an’ bruised wi’ the 
cruel rocks an’ waves?” 

“No, we haven’t forgotten,” Lorrie replied with an 
inward shudder. “ I should think we had better not 
see the face; it could do no good and only be painful.” 

“I think mesel’ it’s as well not,” Esther returned, 
carefully closing the door after them when they had 
entered. 

In the dim light they drew near where the lifeless 
body of the stranger lay, with a rich India shawl thrown 
over the sheet that covered it. Sybil had sent the 
shawl, with the freshest and sweetest flowers she could 
And after the storm. On a little table close by were 
placed all Esther’s cherished house-plants. Ailing the 
room with their soft fragrance, and seeming to relieve 
the gloom. 

As Lorrie and Clive stood by, with bowed heads and 
heavy hearts, Esther softly turned back the covering — 
the face was concealed by a linen handkerchief — one of 
Lorrie’s own — disclosing the flowers, Sybil’s flowers, 
with which the pillow was strewn where the head 
rested, and pointing to the hands crossed so peacefully 
upon the broad breast, she said in a whisper, “We took 
off the pore gentleman’s ring, sir — fer the little son’s 
sake ; I hope we did right. ” 

“Quite right,” Lorrie answered, also in a whisper. 

When they had slowly and silently left the quiet pres- 
ence, and Esther had locked the door and taken out the 
key, she put a small packet into Lorrie’s hand. 

“ Wull ee please take it, sir?” she said; “it’s the ring 
I spoke of, an’ a little locket — the awnly things as were 
saved, ’ceptin’ the little child. They mout tell some’at 

ef they come to the right hands, but I’m afeard ” 

she shook her head sadly, and Lorrie and Clive turned 
away. 


^06 


SYBIL TBEVYLLIAN. 


Lorrie put the relics into his pocket, feeling it very 
ghostly to have them in his possession. The walk back 
was a silent one ; both Lorrie and Clive were too op- 
pressed and saddened by what they had seen, and by 
all the mournful circumstances, to feel inclined to talk. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


I dreamed that as I wandered by the way 
Bare winter suddenly was changed to spring. 


— Shelley. 



S they wound up the narrow path that led to the 


house, suddenly sweet pounds came floating down 
to them, and they stopped to listen. 

“ It’s Tiny singing!” exclaimed Clive; “and — yes! it 
must be Miss Trevyllian whistling an accompaniment! 
How jolly!” and glad of relief from the silence and 
melancholy that had been weighing on his spirits, he 
dashed up the path and quickly disappeared. 

Lorrie walked slowly after, listening to the floating 
strains of the airy song, that, with its airy accompani- 
ment, he compared — smiling at the conceit — to the 
singing of a lark with a fairy flute-obligato. He lin- 
gered until the song was ended, and Clive’s ringing 
voice and laugh followed; and then made his wa}’ 
round to the front of the house, where a pretty scene 
met his eyes. 

Sybil sat in the porch, which the roses and honey- 
suckle, though a good deal tossed about by the storm, 
still shaded. Clive stood beside her, talking gayly, and 
Caroline was just putting the tea on the little table. 
Lynette was seated on the lower step of the porch with 
the little stranger in her lap ; and he with his face aglow, 
was crying in an imperative voice, “More! — more! — 
more moosic !” Don, whose heart had gone out to the 
child, sat by, patiently waiting to be noticed again, while 


207 


208 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Sancho and Bobbie were scampering hither and thither, 
intent on their ov/n frivolous pursuits. The golden 
light of the setting sun added another charm to the 
scene. 

“Wasn’t she a little monster?” demanded Clive, as 
Lorrie drew near. He was in the act of relating his 
adventure with the red-haired girl and her wooden shoe 
to Sybil. By common consent, the visit to Trawley’s 
cottage was left to be described later on. 

“She was, if you refer to your new acquaintance 
down below,” Lorrie answered. “ Well, my little man,” 
he said, laying his hand gently on the sunny curls. 
“ He seems brighter, doesn’t he?” 

But a sudden change had come over the little face. 
“I Dotta’s Tittle man,’ ” he said, looking wistfully up 
at Lorrie, who had seated himself beside them. “ Did 
oo find Dotta?” 

No one spoke as each sadly watched the anxious little 
questioner. 

“Not yet, my child,” Lorrie said at length; and the 
eager face clouded over and the lips quivered. 

“We’ll have some more music, shall we, darling?” 
cried Lynette, with a tremble in her voice that made 
Lorrie wonder if she could sing just then. 

“No, thank oo,” was the reply, as the little head was 
laid wearily against Lynette’s shoulder. 

“Oh, yes, do let us sing to you again,” said Sybil, 
coming to sit beside them. “ It shall be something so 
pretty, about a robin-redbreast, shan’t it, Lynette? 
Begin, dear!” 

So Lynette, with an effort that made her pale, broke 
bravely into the quiet strains of Claribel’s sweet song. 
Sybil had made one or two vain attempts to steady her 
tremulous lips, when a shrill little voice cried, “ Other 
lady too !” and she saw that the blue eyes were fixed 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


m 

upon her with keen disapproval. It did not make it 
easier for her to begin — the thought that there was no 
one nearer and dearer than “ other lady” to sing to the 
child. But she instantly fell in with a trill very like 
a robin’s, that smoothed away the frown and made the 
blue eyes dance with delight, as he intently watched 
her lips. So the lonely little heart was cheered once 
more, if only for the moment, and his new friends were 
glad. 

Lorrie presently disappeared listening as he went; 
and as the song ended he reappeared with Tommy. 
There was a general outcry of satisfaction. 

“What a happy thought!” said Lynette, as Lorrie 
led Tommy to where she was sitting, with the child 
still in her lap. 

The sunny head was eagerly uplifted, and as Tommy 
stood meekly beside them, the child clambered down, 
though too weak to stand without a steadying hand, 
and patted and stroked the sleek coat. 

“ He a nice little fellow, ” he said, moving on imtil 
he could reach Tommy’s nose, and gently pulling the 
head round, could look into the patient face. 

“ Wouldn’t you like to have a ride on the nice little 
fellow’s back?” asked Lorrie. 

“ Yes, I s’ould,” was the eager answer. “ What he’s 
name?” 

“His name is Tommy,” replied Lorrie. “Did you 
ever ride on a donkey or a pony?” 

“ I don’t ’emember,” the child answered, with a per- 
plexed look, evidently trying to recall any such impor- 
tant event in his small past. “ But I yide Tommy — 
good, sweet Tommy!” and he patted him again, and 
even kissed him on the nose, which kind act so touched 
Tommy’s heart that he gave a sudden bray, as brief as 
sudden, and then hung his head as if ashamed of hav- 
14 


210 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ing given such loud vent to his feelings. The strange 
noise startled the child at first ; but vs^hen he realized 
that it came from Tommy he broke into a merry laugh 
which was music to the ears of his friends. “ He did 
laugh, didn’t he?” he cried gleefully. 

When Lorrie and Clive had improvised “trappings 
for the little sea-king’s war horse,” as Clive said, Lor- 
rie lifted him upon Tommy’s back, seating him girl- 
fashion ; but with an indignant flush the child quickly 
changed that, throwing one leg across, saying, “la 
hoy ! I not a dirl ! ” 

“You won’t be afraid, will you, darling?” Sybil 
asked, as the little heels that Jiardly reached the edge 
of Tom'my’s back began to suggest that it was time to 
be moving. 

“ No, I not afyaid !” came with a brave ring in the 
voice and a flash of the blue eyes. “ I not like these,” 
he cried, with sudden acute discontent, lifting the hem 
of poor Sammy’s coarse woollen frock, and pointing to 
the coarse gray socks and leather shoes, in which his 
small feet were quite lost. “Why I got these ugly 
things on? I not like them — I go get mine own,” and 
he prepared to dismount. 

“Oh, never mind now, darling,” cried Sybil, while 
the others looked on in dismay, “ we’ll have the ride 
first, there’s a sweet pet ; and as soon as ever we can 
we’ll — have prettier things. See, poor Tommy is tired 
of waiting.” 

The child reluctantly put his foot back, his cheeks 
still glowing. 

“I have mine own to-morrow,” he declared stoutly. 

“ Now then, come up. Tommy ! Here we are, and here 
we go !” cried Sybil ; and the procession began to move, 
headed by Don, grave and impressed, while Bobbie and 
Sancho, light-minded as usual, frisked about in the 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


211 


rear. But though the soul of the little sea-king was 
full of courage he had not recovered his strength ; and 
they had not gone many steps before he dropped the 
gay ribbons that served as reins, and caught desper- 
ately at Lorrie’s arm, and Lorrie saw that he was pale 
with fear. “ What’s the trouble, little one?” he asked, 
stopping Tommy quickly. 

“Is’all fall! I ’fyaid! Take me!” the child cried 
in terrified accents ; and he clung to Lorrie as he lifted 
him in his arms. 

It was soon settled that he should be carried, and they 
should continue their walk, for he ceased to tremble and 
look frightened when he felt himself held close and safe, 
and the heavens were becoming every moment more 
sumptuous as the sun sank deeper in the bank of blue- 
black clouds that lay along the far edge of the billowy sea. 

“Let me carry him,” said Clive, as they started on 
again ; “ I haven’t once had hold of his small majesty ; 
it isn’t fair.” 

“You’ll drop him!” cried Lynette^ 

“Teach your grandmother!” returned Clive scorn- 
fully, taking the child from Lorrie and giving Lynette 
a triumphant glance, as the small arms were thrown 
trustfully round his neck. 

“What shall we do with poor Tommy?” asked Lyn- 
ette; “only see how dejected he looks! he thinks he is 
in disgrace. Oh ! I’ll ride him!” she cried, gleefully, 
and up she sprang before Lorrie could even offer a 
helping hand. “ My hat, please !” 

Lorrie picked up the hat that had fallen off as she 
sprang, and held it above her head just out of reach of 
her uplifted hands, smiling down into the protesting 
eyes raised to his. The eyes and hands sank together 
after an instant, and Lorrie placed the hat very care- 
fully on her head. 


^12 SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 

“ I have nothing to fasten it on with,” she said, “ and 
the next time it may be blown into the sea. ” 

“Then I had better carry it,” said Lorrie, with alac- 
rity ; and suiting the action to the word he captured 
the hat and conveyed it with much care, as he walked 
beside Tommy, leaving the bright head to be kissed by 
the sunbeams. Lynette would have liked even more 
shelter than the narrow rim of her sailor-hat would 
have given. She had suddenly become silent; her 
cheeks were flushed, her lips tremulous, and her eyes 
full of trouble, and looked neither to the right nor to 
the left, but straight before her at the sunset, which 
she hardly saw. 

The truth was that Lynette was counting over the 
dreadful lapses from what was proper and ladylike 
that she had been guilty of since she landed in “ that 
hoydenish manner” on the sands the day before — 
what ages it seemed ! and saying over the opprobrious 
epithets she doubted not Lorrie was applying to her as 
he walked beside her, so grave and quiet. She was on 
the point, more than once, of jumping down and going 
to join Sybil; but felt it would be even more childish 
and absurd than staying where she was. If she had 
behaved from the first with the least dignity, she said 
to herself, Lorrie would never have dreamed of ventur- 
ing to put her hat on for her ; it was treating her like 
the merest child, and that thought filled her with a 
sense of humiliation that was almost too keen for 
endurance. 

This self-consciousness was a new and most misera- 
ble sensation. Of late her mother had occasionally 
reminded her that certain things were, or were not, 
expected of her, now that she had exchanged the school- 
room and a governess for a maid and society ; but the 
admonition was soon forgotten when she and Clive 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


213 


were left to their own devices ; and it was only since 
they came to St. Clements that she had begun to feel 
the responsibilities of her eighteen long summers, and 
the difficulty, not to say impossibility, of living up to 
them 

“ His little majesty is asleep, I do believe,” Clive said 
suddenly to Sybil. 

“ So he is !” returned Sybil, seeing that the blue eyes 
were closed and the lips lightly parted; “dear little 
pet, it shows how weak he is. I am sure he would be 
as full of fun and frolic as Bobbie and Sancho them- 
selves if he were well and happy.” 

Lynette took off her broad blue sash to put over the 
little sleeper; the air was growing cooler as the sun 
sank deeper in the bank of clouds. “ Oh, look, look !” 
she cried, as they reached the edge of the cliff, which 
fell away precipitously, and made them seem close upon 
the climbing waves. 

The blue-black mass in the west had become a won- 
derful luminous purple below and a blaze of gold and 
crimson above, from which shot fanlike rays that 
touched the fleecy clouds floating high in the heavens, 
turning them to bright flame color ; while, from a rift 
in the purple, suddenly and swiftly, a broad hand of 
flames spread across the waters to the very foot of- the 
cliff on which they stood. The next instant the whole 
of the vast surging sea between them and the west was 
like liquid Are ; even the spray glowed like showers of 
sparks as the billows broke here and there. 

Ho one spoke for a time, the sight was so impressive, 
and the air was so full of the voices of the sea. But 
suddenly there was a merry outcry and a laughing 
flight from the edge of the cliff, Lynette springing like 
a bird from Tommy’s back and outstripping them all. 
The tide was coming in, and at that moment the surf, 


214 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


gathering sudden force from the pushing waves behind, 
had leaped up the face of the cliff, and high into the 
air ; and a troop of glittering drops flew after the fugi- 
tives, catching them in spite of their fleetness. 

The sudden, swift motion as Clive ran displaced 
the scarf that had covered the little sleeper, and some 
of the drops fell on his face, and before even Clive had 
noticed that he was awake he had raised his head and 
looked about him ; and above the noise of the sea and 
the laughing chatter of his friends over their wetting, 
rose a shrill cry of keen, childish terror. 

“Take me, take me!” he cried, stretching out his 
arms toward Lorrie, as he and Sybil and Lynette hur- 
ried to Clive’s side. 

Lorrie took him quickly and, holding him close, felt 
the convulsive clinging of the small legs and arms, and 
the trembling of the little frame. 

“ What is it, my pet?” asked Sybil anxiously; but 
the terrified child only hid his face and clung to Lorrie. 

“It’s the sea,” Sybil said; “he saw the surf and felt 
the spray. Don’t be frightened, darling, nothing shall 
hurt you,” she said, holding one small, cold hand in 
hers. 

“ Yes, yes,” said the shrill little voice, “ it did, it did !” 

“But it shall not any more,” said Lorrie soothingly. 
“See, nothing can get you away from me.” 

The child was quite still for a moment, then turning 
his head so that Lorrie could see his face, that looked 
shrunken and white with fear, he asked in a shrill 
whisper, “ Has it got Dotta?” 

“No, darling, and it shall not have Dotta’s Tittle 
man,’ so don’t be afraid,” Lorrie answered, hurrying 
on toward the house. 

“ We ^o find Dotta,” and seeming quite comforted, 
the child lay quietly in Lorrie’s arms. Clive led 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


215 


Tommy, while Lynette followed, and the dogs, feeling 
that something had gone very wrong, crept meekly 
after. 

“ What can we do to make him happy?” said Lynette 
mournfully, when they had reached the house and 
Sybil had taken the little one on her lap. 

“I don’t know, unless you were to sing to him,” re- 
plied Lorrie. 

“ Or tell him a story — do you like stories, darling?” 
Sybil asked, resting her cheek against the sunny curls. 

The child looked wistfully into Sybil’s face, knitting 
his brows, as if trying to recall something, but shook 
his head with a quivering lip. “ I like tolies, but I not 
happy. I velly tired. I want Dotta. Do find him,” 
he cried out, in shrill appeal to Lorrie, sobbing faintly 
as if his poor little heart were worn out with grief and 
longing. 

“ So Dotta is a hini^ ” said Clive, when Caroline had 
taken the child away to give him his supper and put 
him to bed. “That knocks the nurse theory all to 
smithereens, doesn’t it? The plot thickens!” 

“ What can it mean?” Lynette said to Sybil. 

“ I’ll tell you what I think,” said Clive, with a judicial 
air, “ I believe that it was Dotta that brought the little 
sea-king ashore in his arms. I’m not quite so clear as 
to whether Dotta was the father or not, but I am in- 
clined to think he was — that they were one and the 
same.” 

“How could they be. Tiny?” asked Lynette; “he 
wouldn’t call his father. ‘Dotta.’ ” 

“ It isn’t at all impossible,” returned Clive. “ What 
does that little rascal, Jim, at home, call the governor? 
Dove, if you please. Miss Trevyllian ! We happen to 
know that it is short for governor — a name that he 
picked up one day from hearing me say it to somebody 


216 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


— behind the governor’s back, of course; and papa was 
so tickled at the audaciousness of it, in a little chap of 
two, that he wouldn’t have him stopped. So who’s to 
say what ‘Dotta’ may stand for in the little sea-king’s 
vocabularj^? Anyhow, one thing I consider to be set- 
tled for good and all — that Dotta is the man that 
brought the little chap ashore. What do you think 
about it?” he asked, turning to appeal to Lorrie, but 
Lorrie had disappeared. “ How full of secrets and all 
kinds of awful things the bottom of the sea must be !” 
he remarked, after a pause which neither Sybil nor 
Lynette were inclined to break. 

“ O Tiny, don’t !” cried Lynette; “ how can you think 
of such dreadful things?” 

“ Thej^’re forced upon me. How can one help think- 
ing of them, under the circumstances?” answered Clive. 

They all strolled out, before parting for the night, as 
far as the cliff, and stood there silent and entranced. 
It was difficult to believe that it was the same scene 
upon which they had looked at sunset. Now the moon, 
sailing through a cloudless sky, filled the world with 
its glimmering radiance, making everything dream- 
like and unreal ; while the voices of the sea, the waves 
breaking against the rocks, the currents rushing through 
narrow channels, and dashing in and out of caverns — 
all seemed to have a muffled sound, as if they too were 
spellbound by the weird mystery of the radiant dark- 
ness. 

The pale radiance and the dim shadows and the 
muffled sounds and the silence of her companions, all 
wrought upon Lynette to such a degree that she felt 
almost as if she were becoming ghostly and unreal her- 
self ; she wished Sybil would take her hand, that she 
might feel something warm and human ; then she could 
have enjoyed the beauty to the full. But Sybil herself 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


217 


looked so spirit-like, with the moonlight on her face 
and pale dress, that Lynette could only stand with her 
hands tightly clasped, hoping some one would soon 
move or speak to break the spell. 

“You are shivering with cold,” Lorrie said, coming 
to her side, “ you must come to the house at once and 
telling Sybil that they were going in, it was so cold, 
he drew Lynette away. “ I am afraid it was too ghostl}^ 
for you,” he said, as they walked on rather quickly, 
Sybil and Clive following more slowly. 

“ Oh, no — I thought it most lovely, only you were all 
so silent and it was all so pale and hushed. I began to 
feel as if I wasn’t myself. Did you look at Sybil?” 

“ Yes, she looked rather like a spirit, didn’t she?” 

“ I didn’t dare to touch her for fear I should find that 
she wasn’t really Sybil,” said Lynette with a little 
laugh. 

“ I think there will be very nearly a calm sea to- 
morrow,” Lorrie said, after a pause. 

“Do you really?” asked Lynette, in startled tones. 

“Yes — lam afraid so; it is much quieter to-night; 
haven’t you noticed?” 

“ I hadn’t thought about it. Then they will send for 
us, I suppose,” she added with an unconscious sigh. 

“ Must you go if they do?” 

“Oh, yes, of course we must,” she replied gravely. 

“ And then you will soon be going to join your father 
and mother in Edinburgh?” 

“Yes, as soon as we get letters.” 

“And you will be in Scotland until October?” 

“I am afraid so — it’s a dreary prospect,” sighed 
Lynette. 

“The unexpected is what generally happens; so per- 
haps you will have all sorts of pleasant surprises and 
be sorry to come away. ” 


218 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Lynette made no reply to that, and Lorrie said, “ I 
only wish we might keep the sea at boiling pitch for a 
month to come, so that you couldn’t possibly escape 
from us.” They reached the porch at that moment, 
and the light from the hall lamp fell full on Lynette ’s 
face. 

Her cheeks had suddenly become the color of a rose, 
but she cried, clasping her hands, with the prettiest 
pretence of being tragic, “ Oh, if we only, only could !” 

“‘Only, only could’ what. Tiny?” demanded Clive, 
as he and Sybil drew near. 

“ Only could keep the sea boiling and bubbling for a 
month, so that we should be obliged to stay — at St. 
Hilda’s, instead of going to Scotland,” answered Lyn- 
ette, in the same tone. 

“ Ho such blessed luck,” returned Clive disconsolately. 
“It’s going to be as smooth as a mill-pond to-morrow, 
or next day, at best. ” 

Long after the others had gone to their rooms, Lorrie 
paced up and down in front of the house, bareheaded, 
unmindful of the chilliness in the air — of everything, 
in truth, except the new, enthralling hope that had 
taken possession of his heart. Until within a few short 
hours, he had believed that his capacity for loving had 
died a slow death with his love for Hixie; yet Lynette, 
with her tawny hair and her wonderful eyes, her pretty 
wilfulness and childish impulses, and, shining through 
and above all, her sweet womanliness — whom he had 
meant to steal away from Norman to spite Lady Sara — 
how his face fired at the remembrance ! — had awakened 
in him such a depth of worshipful devotion, that he 
was forced to wonder if his feeling for Nixie had been 
anything more than the romantic love of a boy for the 
bonne camarade of years. He was even driven to ad- 
mit, to his most secret self, that her mother’s cold 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


219 


opposition had added intensity to his ardor, and to his 
fierce determination to marry her at all hazards. 

Then came the question. Did Lynette love him? 
There was not, he was certain, the shadow of cause for 
fear as to Norman. He knew she was heart-whole 
when they were walking across the meadow yesterday 
— was it yesterday, or years ago? Was she heart-whole 
notv? When he told her of his love, and asked her to 
be his wife, would she look at him with her innocent 
eyes full of surprise and wonder, and perhaps laugh 
in her utter inability to understand that he was in ter- 
rible earnest? A shiver crept over him at the thought; 
but his heart grew warm again, when he recalled what 
he had seen, or hoped he had seen, in the depths of her 
eyes. Perhaps she was herself unconscious of that 
sweet something; and he pictured her awakening to 
the truth, and letting it shine out and into his heart 
when he told her of his love. And how happy he 
would make her if she gave herself to him, so long as 
they both should live ! A sickening sense of weakness 
and insecurity assailed him in the midst of his happy 
dream, and made him even question his right to try 
to win her ; but he quickly shook off the doubt, declar- 
ing that he would be weak and false to his better self 
never more — he would be worthy even of her. 

He could not face the thought of waiting till October 
to learn his fate. He must tell her of his love before 
they parted ; and if she loved him, it woidd brighten all 
the weary time between for them both. An unreason- 
ing hope thrilled him that he might even be allowed to 
follow her to Scotland. 

What would Sybil say? At thought of her a great 
throb of remorseful tenderness stirred his heart ; and as 
he saw himself, in a hasty backward glance — a self 
that he shuddered at sight of — and Sybil, his guardian 


220 


SYBIL TREl^^LLIAN. 


angel, who had saved him for such happiness as he 
dared to dream of now, and for all he was resolved to 
be and do in the future, he said, “ She shall see that it 
has not been in vain — she shall, she shall ! God bless 
her !” 

“ Lorrie !” cried Sybil’s voice softly, from the window 
of her room, “do come in, dear; it is so late and so 
chilly ! and you have no hat, rash boy ! Come in this 
minute ! and please shut the door and put out the light 
in the hall.” 

“All right — I’m coming,” Lorrie answered. 

At the top of the stairs he found her waiting for him 
in a soft white wrapper, brush in hand, her beautiful 
hair rippling about her. The playful frown of disap- 
proval with which she awaited him changed to tender 
concern, as her eyes met his, which were full of the 
deep feeling that still swelled his heart. She could not 
express the sympathy she felt with him in whatever it 
was that moved him so, and he could not at once trust 
himself to speak. 

“Sybil,” he began at length, but all he said was, 
“ you look the angel that you are. ” Then he kissed her 
hastily, but fondly, and went into his own room. 

How long Sybil stood as he had left her, her eyes on 
his door, and how long she lay awake, after going to 
bed, thinking of him, she could not have told. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


The past is over and fled ; 


Named new, we name it the old ; 
Thereof some tale has been told, 


But no word comes from the dead. 


— Rossetti. 



ORRIE threw himself on the bed without undress- 


I j ing. At first there were no very definite sensa- 
tions or thoughts, but a confusion of many — hope, 
doubt, tenderness, remorse — all pressed upon him, mak- 
ing him draw deep, painful breaths, as a man does 
whose heart is overcharged, and who will not accept 
a woman’s relief of tears. 

But gradually the tension lessened ; and his first well- 
defined thought gave him comfort : the certainty that 
Sybil would not be sorry, but glad, when she knew 
that he loved Lynette — if only Lynette could love him 
in return. She had already taken Lynette to her heart, 
and if anything could make him happier after winning 
such a treasure for himself, it would be gaining such a 
sister for Sybil. In their talk on the eve of his birth- 
day, she had said how lonely she had been, shut out 
from his confidence and love ; she should never know 
what loneliness was again. He loved her now as she 
deserved to be loved ; and he was sure Lynette loved 
her only less than he did. No one less sweet and avo- 
manly than she could appreciate Sybil’s angelic good- 
ness, he felt. 

He lay gazing out into the moonlight through the 
open window that faced the bed, as if there the picture 


221 


^22 


SYBIL TRBVYLLIAN. 


of their life together were being unfolded, from the 
nursery and the school-room on and on. He saw Sybil 
bearing with his riotous tempers and high-handed boy- 
ish tyrannies, and generously meeting all his selfish 
exactions, and he felt her never-failing sympathy in all 
that interested him or touched his happiness as they 
grew older. He recalled and acknowledged, perhaps 
for the first time, how her pride and confidence in him 
had inspired the effort at last that won the honors at 
Oxford which had delighted his father and surprised 
him no less. 

Then came the affair with Nixie; and, standing out 
as the darkest day in all the dark record, he saw that 
one in which he had demanded of Sybil, in his unrea- 
soning frenzy, what he knew must have revolted every 
principle of her nature ; and then had thrown her off 
with cruel harshness because she could not comply 
with his demands. The illness that followed Nixie’s 
engagement to Lord Netherby, he saw clearly, was 
caused by his ungoverned fury at being thwarted ; and 
he understood what he seemed to have been utterly un- 
conscious of before — all Sybil’s untiring devotion; and 
knew what a tax it had been upon her strength, when, 
in his vision, her thin, white face came before him. 

Presently the door of his sick-room seemed to open, 
and Dr. Thornton, another faithful, patient friend, ap- 
peared; and at sight of those honest eyes and that 
kindly smile, so associated with all his past, fresh 
memories came thronging, bringing fresh remorses; 
memories of his mother, of her boundless pride and 
faith in him, so ill- deserved ; memories of his father 
and of Sybil’s terrible grief at losing him; and of his 
own shameful betrayal of the trust imposed upon him 
by his father’s death. The weight of regrets and self- 
reproach grew too painful at last, and he rose from 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


223 


the bed, and had paced once or twice up and down, 
when his eyes fell on the little packet that Esther had 
given him, and that he had laid on the table when he 
came to his room. He sat down, not unwilling to have 
his thoughts even thus diverted from himself, and 
untied the thick string, and unfolded the brown paper 
in which the relics had been so carefully done up, A 
small packet inclosed in the other — evidently the ring 
of which Esther had spoken — ^dropped heavily upon the 
table. The locket was in a wash-leather bag, stained 
and damp, and having a briny smell. It was of Indian 
filigree, hardly larger than a crown piece. It lay in his 
hand unopened while his thoughts dwelt on the tragic 
fate of the owner, and the hardly less tragic fate of the 
lonely little survivor. As he turned it over absently, 
his eyes were arrested by the monogram, worn and 
obscured by time ; but it was not to be mistaken for 
anything but “H. T.” 

He started to his feet suddenly, white to the lips. 
“ Good God ! this is too horrible !” he ejaculated, gazing 
with dilating eyes at the case which had dropped from 
his hand. 

“ Hartley Thornton isn’t the only man in the world 
with those initials,” he muttered at length. “ It is an 
absolute impossibility, and it is ridiculous to think 
of it.” 

He seated himself again and took up the case. Open- 
ing it with cold and trembling fingers he looked upon 
two faces, his own and Sybil’s — faded photographs 
taken, as he well remembered, just before he went to 
Oxford, when Sybil was but fifteen. A single faded 
violet had fallen from the case; this he carefully re- 
placed, and with a groan his head dropped on his 
crossed arms, and he sat for many minutes, too heart- 
sick and dismayed to move. 


224 


^YBIL TRE^n^LLTAN. 


He lifted his head suddenly at last as the memory 
of what Dr. Thornton had told him, to prove to him 
that life need not be worthless because a man misses 
the treasure he desires most of all, flashed across him, 
perhaps for the first time since that day ; and to make 
the links complete, he realized, as he had never done 
before, the fact that soon after his father’s death the 
old friendly intercourse between them and Dr. Thornton 
had almost wholly ceased. Indeed, they had only met 
casually, until his own illness, when he had asked to 
have him sent for. He remembered having wondered 
at the change, but he had been too intent upon his own 
affairs to give it much thought or to inquire into its 
cause. It was all perfectly clear to him now; Sybil 
was the woman whom the doctor had loved hopelessly, 
and he had thought it no wrong to wear her girlish 
likeness next his heart, with the one faded violet that 
might have fallen from her dress, and had been cher- 
ished by him for all these years. 

He opened the smaller packet now, instantly recog- 
nizing, with a new pang, the old intaglio ring, in a 
heavy Roman setting, that Dr. Thornton used always 
to wear, and that he had once laughingly proposed 
leaving to Lorrie in his will — he admired it so much. 

So the little stranger’s “Dotta” was his and Sybil’s 
old friend beyond the possibility of a doubt. 

But who was the little stranger? Clearly, Lorrie 
thought, as he scanned the facts anew, Dr. Thornton 
had left the Netherbys for some reason, and come home 
in the ill-fated steamer that was wrecked in the storm. 
The child, then, must have belonged to some passenger ; 
and during the long voyage he had given his loving 
little heart to the doctor, who, as Lorrie remembered, 
was very fond of children and a great favorite with 
them. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


225 


Yes, the mystery was solved, but how sadly! Their 
faithful friend was lost to them ; they should hear his 
voice and feel the warm grasp of his hand no more. 
And his last act — how in keeping it was with all the 
acts of his life. How it would wring Sybil’s heart to 
know the truth ! she was so tenacious of her few friend- 
ships ; and what sharpness would be added to her grief 
at the loss of such a friend by the thought of the pain 
she had caused him ! 

But he would not tell her yet. It seemed to him, on 
considering all the circumstances, that it would be better 
to let the funeral take place, as had been arranged, as 
that of a stranger. He shrank from the talk it would 
occasion if it were to be known that they had recognized 
a friend in the shipwrecked man ; and, still more, he 
dreaded giving Sybil the pain of that knowledge sooner 
than was necessary. After the funeral, or as soon as 
Lynette and Clive had left them, he would go up to 
London and see Thornton’s brother. If he wished it 
the body could be removed; though Lorrie thought that 
no one need desire a sweeter place for a friend to rest 
in than the little churchyard at St. Clements. 

If there had been time he would have telegraphed to 
the brother to summon him to the funeral ; but as that 
was now out of the question, he determined to wait 
until they met in London to tell him the sad news. 
That duty, he resolved, should not be delayed an hour 
longer than he could help ; and he resolved on another 
visit to Trawley’s cottage in the morning. The thought 
of their old friend being buried as a stranger, without 
a look from loving eyes, gave him the keenest pain ; 
all the keener because of his having shrunk, with shud- 
dering horror, from looking upon the poor bruised 
face. 

He sat on, his head resting in his hands, with the 
15 


226 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


locket and the ring before him, his thoughts Busy with 
the past, the present, and the future, until they began 
to grow hazy ; and he lifted his eyes to find that the 
candles had burned out and the pale light of the early 
summer dawn filled the room. He threw himself upon 
the bed then, again without undressing, lest he should 
fail to waken in time for his visit to Trawley’s, and 
fell asleep almost as his head touched the pillow. But 
at half-past seven he was on his way across the island, 
having left a message for Sybil to the effect that if he 
did not come back to walk down with them, he would 
meet them at the church. 

The cool, bright air refreshed him, but his heart sank 
as he looked upon the sea, so calm and placid, as if 
nothing had ever disturbed its serenity. He would 
gladl}^ have seen it angry and tempest-tossed again, as 
he pictured the moment when he must stand upon the 
sands and watch Lynette sailing away into a haze of 
uncertainties. How could he bear it, unless he had 
first won her promise to be his wife? and his hope just 
then was but faint. 

When he reached the cottage, he learned from Es- 
ther that the body had been placed in the coffin and 
taken to the church the night before, and he turned his 
steps in that direction, leaving Esther to say to her 
husband, “ I niver see anny wann so cut up ovver the 
death of a stranger as he niver set eyes on afore. It 
mout ’a’ been his own flesh and blood to make him that 
pale an’ sorry-lookin’.” 

Lorrie stood beside the coffin at the church so long 
and so motionless that the old caretaker wondered, in 
the midst of her dusting and arranging. His heart 
was heavy with regrets and oppressed with his sad 
secret ; and as he at length turned away into the little 
churchyard, he sorrowfully repeated Esther’s words, 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 221 ^ 

“ Shut in out of sight and hearing, with never a friend 
to shed a tear over him.” 

The funeral was to he at half -past nine, and Lorrie 
had half an hour to wait for Sybil and Clive. It had 
been settled the night before, much to Lynette’s relief, 
that she should stay with the little sea-king ; but she 
made a wreath that was laid on the coffin with the other 
three that Sybil and Clive brought. They were care- 
ful not to displace the bright nosegay Esther had laid 
over the nameless silver plate; and there they all lie, 
fading to dust and ashes with what was earthly of him 
who sleeps below. For no one had the heart to disturb 
his rest. His brother felt with Lorrie that there could 
not be a sweeter place in which to await the dawn of 
day and the fleeing away of the shadows. A marble 
slab now bears the name and tells the sad story ; and 
seldom a Sunday comes that there are not fresh flowers 
laid on the grave by Esther’s faithful hand, in the name 
of those who can only occasionally pay the tribute in 
person. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


Catch not my breath, O clamorous heart ! 
Let not my tongue be thrall to my eye ; 


For I must tell her before we part — 
I must tell her or die. 


— Tennyson, 


S Lorrie and Sybil and Clive drew near the house 



A on their return from church, they saw Lynette 
sitting in the porch, with Don stretched beside her, and 
Barty perched, like a great gray owl on the roof above. 

“ Hullo, little Tine !” cried Clive landing at her feet 
with a bound, and laying his hand in a grandfatherly 
manner on her head. “ How’ve you got on? — read your 
book through, I suppose,’' he added, seeing that the 
“ Idylls of the King” lay closed in her lap. 

“No,” she answered, meeting Sybil’s questioning 
look, as she stood for a moment before entering the 
porch, with a very faint smile. 

“What have you done with the little sea-king?” 
asked Clive, balancing himself on the railing of the 
porch, “and what have you done to yourself?” he de- 
manded, as Lynette turned her head to reply. “Just 
look at her. Miss Trevyllian !” and he jumped from his 
perch and lifted her face for inspection. 

“Don’t, Tiny dear,” she said, pushing his hand 
away, her cheeks no longer white. 

“Don’t tease her,” said Sybil, seating berself beside 
Lynette, who slowly opened the book in her lap, dis- 
closing a thick envelope addressed to herself, and a note 
for Sybil. 


228 


sybil TREVYLLIAJY. 


229 


Lorrie had lingered behind, talking to the dogs, but 
he came now, and having shaken hands with Lynette, 
stood looking down at the letters. 

“ What’s all that?” asked Clive. “ By an envoy- 
extraordinary from St. Hilda’s, I suppose. That’s from 
my aunt,” he said, handing the note to Sybil, “to thank 
you for being so good to us, no doubt.” 

“ It can’t be that, ’’said Sybil,opening her note, “ since 
it is we who have to thank Mrs. Penfill for being so 
good to us as to let you come.” 

“ And the storm for being so good as to let us keep 
you,” added Lorrie. 

“Jump up. Tiny, and make a curtsey’” cried Clive, 
while he himself made a profound bow. “It’s easy 
guessing what this is all about,” he said, taking pos- 
session of the large envelope with a grimace. 

“My note,” said Sybil, “is a very kind invitation to 
Lorrie and me, from Mrs. Penfill, to come to lunch to- 
morrow, with you and Ljmette. The Firefly will 
come for us at eleven. I suppose we mustn’t grumble 
at having to give you up then,” Sybil added, laying a 
hand on Lynette’s caressingly. “We shall accept the 
invitation with pleasure, shan’t we, Lorrie?” 

“Of course you will,” cried Clive. “It will put off 
the ‘sad hour of parting, too quickly here,’ a little bit, 
won’t it?” 

“ Such a very little bit,” said Sybil regretfully. “ Is 
the messenger waiting. Linnet?” 

“Yes, I believe he is.” 

“Then I will go at once and write my note,” Sybil 
said. The others followed her into the house, and Clive 
set himself, with dismal airs, to the reading of the letters 
forwarded by his aunt — accompanying his reading 
with running comments, to which no one paid mucli 
heed. Lynette, in her favorite seat by the window. 


S30 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


dreamily watched a sea-bird’s slow flight across the 
deep blue of the sky, or the antics of the small dogs, as 
they tore up and down the slope in front, while Lorrie 
sat in a low chair not far off, his arms on his knees 
and his hands lightly clasped, apparently intent on 
studying the pattern of the old-fashioned, well-preserved 
carpet. 

“ You couldn’t guess the mischief there is in these 
letters. Miss Trevyllian,” Clive said, as Sybil came 
back from writing and dispatching her reply to Mrs. 
Penfill’s invitation. “Just think of it! we are to he in 
London on Wednesday, to spend that night at Camp- 
den Hill, and start for Edinburgh Thursday morn- 
ing.” 

“ It fairly takes my breath away,” exclaimed Sybil. 

“But that isn’t all,” Clive continued, “and I call this 
adding insult to injur}’; we are not to have the jolly 
journey by ourselves that we anticipated, but are to be 
^ taken charge of'’ — I’ll trouble you! the governor’s 
own words — by Mr. Brown, his lawyer, who is going 
up to see him.” Clive strode about the room, brist- 
ling with indignation, real and pretended. 

“I do feel for you,” said Sybil, laughing in spite of 
her sympathy. 

“And there sits Tiny, as calm as a summer’s morn,” 
Clive went on, nodding at Lynette. “ You would never 
guess that she nearly cried her eyes out la,st night at 
the hare thought of going to Scotland.” Clive finished 
his reproach, notwithstanding Lynette’s “Hush, Tiny! 
how can you be so foolish! I am sure,” she added as 
he paused, “you are tragic enough for us both.” 

“I am glad you have grown philosophical,” said 
Clive, shrugging his shoulders, “ and are satisfied with 
what the gods provide. ” 

“ When there is no help for a thing it is better to 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 231 

submit without useless struggles,” returned Lynette, 
meeting Lorrie’s eyes, that drew hers by their intent 
gaze, with a composed little smile. 

“I know one thing,” Clive declared, putting one fist 
on top of the other on the back of his chair, as he sat 
sidewise, “when I have children of my own” — there 
was a general laugh at his expense which he faced un- 
moved ; “ if the fates ordain otherwise, well and good ; 
but if I have children, I shall always say to them : ‘My 
son — or my daughter, ’ as the case may be — ‘what would 
you like?’ in a given matter, and what he or she likes, 
he or she shall do, if the sky falls. It’s the only way 
to deal with reasoning beings. I’ve a great mind to 
rebel,” he cried suddenly, starting from his chair. 
“ Why not write to the governor and say that we have 
received their communication, and having duly consid- 
ered it, have decided that we cannot, comply with their 
request — request is good — to meet them in Edinburgh, 
as we would much prefer to stay at St. Hilda’s, and we 
only hope they will enjoy themselves where they prefer 
to be. What do you say to that. Tiny?” 

“ I say that you are an absurd, chattering boy — not 
to say a very saucy one,” responded Lynette. 

“ Very well ! very well ! I’ll make no more efforts to 
save you from the horrors of Scotland,” Clive declared 
with a gesture expressive of washing his hands of the 
whole matter. 

'‘I think,” Sybil said, “that a walk in the sunshine 
would cheer us all, after such a shock, and so much 
serious discussion,” she £^,dded, with a suggestive smile 
at Clive. “ Should you like it. Linnet?” 

“Very much, Lynette replied. 

“What about the little sea-king? Will he come 
too?” asked Clive. 

“He was fast asleep when I saw him last,” Sybil 


232 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN, 


replied, ‘^and I must have as much of you to-day as 
possible,” she added with a loving look at Lynette. 

“ And of 7ne ! ” cried Clive, with a persuasive smile 
and turn of the head. 

“Yes, indeed, of you too!” replied Sybil. 

When Sybil went upstairs to get her hat, Lorrie 
followed. He waited until she came out of her room, 
and without a word drew her into his, and shut the 
door. He was very, pale, and the look in his eyes made 
her wait in suspense for what he had to say. 

“Sybil,” he began, “I have something to tell you 
and something to ask of you. First of all” — and it 
seemed as if he would read her innermost thought — 
“tell me, do you believe in me now? do you trust me?” 

He must have been satisfied with what he saw in 
Sybil’s face, even before she spoke. “ Trust you, dar- 
ling? believe in you? without the shadow of a question ; 
can you doubt it?” she asked, with a gentle reproach 
in her voice. 

“I don’t think I can; I inust not, for your faith in 
me is m)" one stronghold, and — Sybil, I love Lynette! 
Do you think I may be trusted with her happiness, if I 
can win her love?” 

Sybil felt for the moment that the solid earth was 
swaying under her feet, and all she possessed that made 
life worth having was slipping out of her grasp. She 
could not but acknowledge that some such possibility 
had crossed her mind when Lynette arrived in the yacht 
that day; hut the events that followed had put it com- 
pletely out of her thoughts ; it had not once recurred to 
her, even vaguely, since the first hour of the visit, and 
now the reality came upon her with as sharp a shock 
as if even to dream of it had been an impossibility. 
This was strange, as she felt now, but it was true. 
Lorrie drew her within his arms and she leaned against 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


233 


him for a moment, but quickly recovered herself and 
lifted her eyes to his with a brave attempt to smile. 

“ Is it that you think, after all, I am not to be trusted 
with — so much?’- Lorrie asked anxiously. 

“Oh, no — no!” she answered; “it was nothing in 
the world but a spasm of selfish grief at the prospect 
of losing you, just as ” 

“Just as you had found me again? But, dear, it will 
not be losing me, it will be gaining her, if she will but 
love me.” 

“I know it, dear,” she said; “and there couldn’t be 
found in the wide world a sweeter, dearer sister than 
she will be to me.” 

“Will be?” repeated Lorrie eagerly. 

“I hope it — I think it,” Sybil answered, longing to 
speak even more assuringly, but feeling that she had 
no right. “ Bless you both ! may you win her and be 
happ5^” She forced herself to speak lightly, while she 
was wondering how she should get through the rest of 
the day, and all the days to come. 

“Now I have something to ask of you,” Lorrie said. 
“You see I have not much time — a mere atom of 
time — and I cannot let her go without telling her that 
I love her, and knowing whether she loves me; so will 
you let me have her to myself for a little while this 
afternoon — as she goes to-morrow?” Lorrie said the 
last words with a shiver that Sybil felt. 

Yet she hesitated; ought she to let him speak to 
Lynette of his love while she was with them? and her 
visit one enforced by circumstances, and accidentally 
unconventional? Ought she not to insist that he should 
wait until he had obtained her father’s consent? There 
really was no room for a question as to what she ought 
to do ; and nerving herself for the unwelcome duty of 
making unwelcome objections, she raised her eyes to 


234 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Lorrie. But the moment of time she had taken to con- 
sider had seemed ages to him ; and he was watching 
her with such anxious suspense, and looked so terribly 
in earnest, that the objections died on her lips; and 
instead of being wise and prudent, as she had intended, 
she said, “Yes — I will,” but so faintly and reluctantly 
that Lorrie was not satisfied. “ Why did you hesitate 
so long?” he asked; “and why do you answer at last 
as if you wanted to say ‘No’? You said you trusted 
me.” 

“So I do, Lorrie,” she replied earnestly; “but don’t 
you see, dear — you must see — that the circumstances 
are peculiar? Lynette is visiting us, and it is not a 
voluntary visit, approved by her friends; and we are 
all young together; she has only me to be responsible. 
O Lorrie ! don’t you see how very careful we ought to 
be?” She added playfully, “ It is a case for serpen tly 
wisdom and dove-like ” 

“Yes, I see that the conventions forbid that I should 
satisfy my desperate desire to know my fate, and that 
Lynette should know that I love her, until I have for- 
mally asked her father’s permission to tell her, and ” 

“And until she is no longer our guest,” added Sybil 
gently. 

“ The conventions require that I should wait patiently 
until October, and that we should part as acquaintances 
of a day. But I am not going to obey the conventions, ” 
he declared vehemently. “ I have a right to tell her 
that I love her, without waiting for anybody’s consent; 
and all the rules and regulations in creation shall not 
prevent my doing it to-day. I will not suffer the tor- 
ture of letting her go without my knowing whether she 
loves me or not. It is her right, too, if she loves me, 
to know that I love her. But,” he added gently, “ can’t 
you give me your sanction more heartily? I can’t bear 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


2Y) 

to go against your wishes; but if you only knew what 
it would be to me not to tell her ! Sybil, you will not 
ask it of me, will you?” 

“No, I will not,” Sybil answered without hesitation, 
though her heart was faint ; “ but, oh ! remember, Lor- 
rie dear, if you are not wise you may hurt your own 
cause. She is very young — you inust not let her 
engage herself to you — you 7nust leave her free.” 

“You may trust me,” responded Lorrie. “I will be 
as wise as a serpent and as harmless as a dove ! Sybil, 
you are a jewel ! ‘ She standeth alone as the nightingale 

sings!’” 

Sybil’s involuntary sigh might have shown Lorrie 
what his praiseful words suggested to her ; but he was 
too happy at her assent to his wishes to notice her sad- 
ness. There was a brief silence that Sybil broke: 
“ Forgive me, Lorrie, but have you thought” — she 
paused, her courage failing her for the moment. Lor- 
rie waited and she went on, “ Have you thought that 
Nixie will be at home before long ! do you feel per- 
fectlij sure of yourself?” 

“Absolutely,” responded Lorrie, with the ring of a 
proud certainty in his voice. 

“ And you are not angry nor grieved at my asking, 
are you?” 

“Not in the very least,” he replied; “it is only nat- 
ural and reasonable that you should wish to be satisfied 
on that point ; and how tremendously important that I 
should be ! But you need have no fear ; I am as sure of 
my unalterable love for Lynette, and of its being the 
love of my life, as I am of my own existence.” 

There was another question which recurred to Sybil 
again and again that she could not suggest to Lorrie — 
it was too late ; and whether Lady Sara and Mrs. Gra- 
ham really desired the match Clive had talked of to 


236 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


her, or not, and whether Norman Hargreave wished it 
or not — there was nothing to be done now, but let 
Lynette speak for herself ; and young and child-like as 
she was, Sybil had no misgivings as to her “ knowing 
her own mind.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


And the brooklet has found the billow, 

Though they flowed so far apart, 

And has filled with its freshness and sweetness 
That turbulent, bitter heart. 

— Longfellow. 

I YNETTE hardly understood how it was that she 
J and Lorrie were in the garden among, the roses, 
instead of on their way to see the sunset from the cliff 
with Sybil and Clive ; but so it was. Lorrie had said 
something when they all left the porch together, about 
her not having been to pay the postponed visit to the 
rose-border, and with the dogs leaping and barking 
round them, and much running and chasing and frol- 
icking with them on the part of Clive, they had reached 
the garden ; Lorrie had opened the gate for her, shutting 
it quickly as the small dogs made a rush for it, and 
now they were among the roses and Sybil and Clive 
were at a distance, still occupied with the dogs. That 
was what had happened, hut it was not a satisfactory 
explanation to Lynette, and she was rather distraite 
and by no means so eager in her enjoyment of the 
flowers as she had been in her first visit to the garden. 

Lorrie, too, was silent, as he busied himself in gath- 
ering a bunch of the most perfect of the half-blown 
buds — those that had opened since the storm. Having 
carefully cut away every thorn, he tied them up with 
a strip of ribbon grass, and gave them to Lynette, look- 

237 


238 


SYBIL TRF.VYLLIAN. 


ing on while she smelled them and caressed each with 
her eyes, thinking each more lovely than the last, and 
fastened them in her dress. 

“Thank you so much — they are delicious. I only 
wish they need never fade !” she said with a sigh. 

“Will you come and sit down for a while?” Lorrie 
asked, pointing to a quaint little arbor built in the 
corner of the wall, its trellis completely hidden by clem- 
atis, jasmine, and small, climbing roses, the long ten- 
drils of the clematis drooping low, like a festooned 
curtain, in front. 

“ I thought we were going to see the sunset from the 
cliff,” Lynette answered lightly, looking in that direc- 
tion; “I can’t see Sybil and Clive anyAvhere; they 
must be there already.” 

“ You don’t mind staying here, do you?” Lorrie said, 
with pleading eyes. 

“ Oh, no, ” she answered, and he led the way to the 
arbor. 

When they stood before it he turned to her. Her 
eyes met his without flinching, though there was some- 
thing in them that set her heart throbbing so that the 
roses trembled on her breast, and a faint color came 
into her cheeks. 

“Will you sit herewith me for a little while?” he 
asked in a voice full of entreaty. “ There is something 
that I must say to you. Will you listen?” 

Lynette wondered at herself — wondered if she were 
herself at all. If she were Lynette, why, with her 
heart beating so wildly, and such a throbbing at her 
throat, didn’t she cry or run away? Was it really her 
own lips that said so quietly, with a smile, “Yes, I will 
listen.” 

“Thank you,” Lorrie returned, not quite sure that 
his courage would not fail before this Lynette, so com- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


239 


posed and self-possessed, and feeling sadly far from 
sure of liis prize. 

How long they had sat looking out of their retreat 
over the gay flower beds, without seeing them, neither 
could have said, when Lynette, impelled, in spite of 
herself, as if something told her he was suffering, 
turned to Lorrie, and felt a sharp pang of pity, seeing 
that his face was pale and troubled. “Will you tell 
me?” she said very gently, “I said I would listen.” 

How kind her voice was, and how pitiful her eyes 
were, as he looked his thanks ! 

“What I have to tell you,” he said, with what com- 
posure he could command, “ is — that I love you ! but — I 
have a confession to make before I can ask you to give 
me your love in return.” His voice grew husky and 
broken, and for a moment he leaned his forehead in his 
hand. 

Until he had looked into Lynette ’s eyes, when he 
asked if she would listen, it had not once crossed his 
mind that he had anything to confess, save his love for 
her ; but the soul that looked through her eyes into his, 
awakened in him a sudden horror of offering a self that 
she did not know, and his resolution was instantly 
taken. 

“ I must make it now — my confession — if you will 
listen,” he said. 

“ Oh, yes !” she answered softly. 

Her gentleness seemed to give him courage, if not 
hope; and he began, not looking at her, and in low 
tones : “ I have to tell you, before I can ask you to ac- 
cept my love, how unworthy I am. These last three 
years of my life have been worse than wasted. I have 
been under a hideous spell, of my own casting. I have 
given myself up to bitter brooding over fancied wrongs. 
I have been madly resentful. Worse still” — his voice 


240 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


grew more broken — “ I have been cruelly unkind to 
Sybil; you can never forgive that — I never can. I 
shut her from my confidence, and was cold and hard; I 
kept her away from the home she loved ; and all this 
just after the death of my father, who was everything 
to her. No wonder you weep,” he groaned, seeing 
Lynette’s face buried in her hands, and hearing a sup- 
pressed sob ; “ I need not tell you how patient and for- 
giving she has been.” 

“ No,” Lynette said. It was like a sigh from a heart 
ready to break with pity. 

Lorrie felt ill with the pressure and constraint to- 
gether that he was putting upon himself, and waited 
to gather strength before he went on. 

“What was it? what made you so unhappy?” asked 
Lynette gently. 

It seemed minutes to Lynette before Lorrie answered. 
To him it was making a fresh confession, more difficult 
to make than the last, for he suddenly felt that in mak- 
ing it he really risked all, but it must be done. 

“ I loved your cousin Audley, and thought she loved 
me ; we were never engaged, but there was an under- 
standing — and she married Lord Netherby.” It was 
like rending soul from body to say it. He dared not 
look at Lynette, though he would have given worlds 
to read her face. Would she believe in his love for her 
after that? Would she ever love him, in the light of 
such a revelation of himself? She should know the 
worst, at all hazards. “ I hated her mother for coming 
between us, as I believed she had, and I found nothing 
better to do for three years than nursing my resentment 
and making Sybil unhappy.” 

“When did the years come to an end?” Lynette 
asked, still gently. 

“ The night of the day that Sybil found you on the 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


241 


rocks,” Lorrie answered, without lifting his head — 
“ only then.” 

“What made them come to an end then?” asked 
Lynette. 

“It was Sybil’s doing, as you must feel,” replied 
Lorrie, raising his head, but not turning to Lynette; 
“I had come to hate myself more than I had hated 
Lady Sara ; but it was as if every day of those wretched 
years had cast fresh chains about me. I had sense 
enough left to feel my chains, and wish to be free, and 
begin a new life, but that was all.” 

“ Then Sybil came to your rescue the night of the 
day that she rescued me,” Lynette said, in the same 
grave, gentle voice, that thrilled Lorrie, but not with 
hope. She seemed to him like a questioning angel, 
who pitied him, but looked down upon him from some 
unattainable height. 

“Yes, she saved me; she drew me, in spite of my- 
self, from the slough into which I had fallen.” 

“ Dear Sybil !” sighed Lynette softly. 

The silence that followed was intolerable to Lorrie. 
Every nerve was quivering with desperate longing to 
know his fate, yet he dared not ask the question that 
trembled on his lips. 

. At last he could bear the suspense no longer and he 
turned to Lynette. No wonder that he started at meet- 
ing her eyes, full of a soft, tender light, and at seeing 
a faint, tender smile on her lips. And she did not turn 
from him, but the eyes grew more softly bright as he 
gazed. 

“ Lynette !” he said, leaning toward her, “ what are 
you thinking? You heard my confession — have you 
forgotten already? am I not even worthy of a 
thought?” 

“ Oh !” cried Lynette in tender protest, tears springing 
16 


242 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAK 


to her eyes, “ I was thinking — that you had said — you 
loved me.” 

“ Lynette ! and was it that that made your eyes and 
your lips smile? was it a happy smile?” 

“ Oh, yes !” she answered, smiling again through her 
tears. 

“O Lynette! is it — can it be true? and are you glad 
that I love you — with my whole soul?” 

“Yes,” was the whispered answer. 

“And can you — will you — do you love me? forgive 
me and trust me and love me?” 

“ If I didn’t love you, I couldn’t be glad that you love 
me; and I couldn’t love you if I didn’t trust you; and 
I have nothing to forgive.” 

Steadily, though not without an effort, and with a 
voice that faltered only at the last, these words were 
said. Lorrie held out his hands, and she laid hers 
within them. He was blissful, but not quite satisfied 
yet, to take what she gave. 

“Lynette,” he said, holding the hands in a tight 
clasp, “you have much to forgive. I didn’t know I 
was sinning against you, but I was, and Sybil — think 
of her, and of those shameful years. You must know 
me for what I am.” Now that the prize was within 
his grasp, he hardly dared take it. Was it pity that 
moved her? did she understand? she must not deceive 
herself. 

“ The years are at an end, ” she said, in clear, sweet 
tones, “so why should I think of them? Sybil does 
not, and I shall never think of tliem again ; and you 
must not.^^ 

The shadow was dispelled, and it cost Lorrie a sharp 
struggle to keep within the bounds that he felt were 
imposed by her grave tenderness and generous frank- 
ness. He must not yield to the great yearning that 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


243 


possessed him to take her in his arms, and kiss the 
sweet lips and eyes. But he pressed her hands against 
his heart, and his glowing eyes looked into hers until 
they fell, and the brightest of blushes dyed her cheeks. 

“ Are they mine, these dear little hands that I have 
coveted so much?” he asked. 

“Yes,” came like a breath. 

“ Then you are mine — my very own !” 

“If you care to take — me,” was the reply, with the 
shadow of a merry smile lurking in the corners of the 
mouth. She had been tempted to say — “ such a wilful 
young lady,” but had felt the moment too serious to 
admit of it. 

“ If I care!” echoed Lorrie, bending to kiss the hands 
that lay in his, “ if I care to take what makes earth seem 
sweeter than heaven ! the loss of which would take all 
the sweetness out of life !” 

“ But you see ” began Lynette, stopping abashed, 

as she met his eyes. 

“ I see, ” said Lorrie, “ though I cannot comprehend 
it — can hardly believe it yet, that you, the sweetest, 
the dearest, are my own, and that the world does not 
contain a happier man than I am. O God,” he cried, 
in a low voice of passionate fervor, “ help me to make 
her as happy as she deserves, and as I wish her to be !” 

It was a sudden pang of self- distrust that forced that 
cry from Lorrie, and with her small knowledge of a 
soul’s possibilities Lynette yet vaguely divined the 
truth. 

“You are not happier than I am,” she said gently; 
“ and I only hope I may always make you as happy as 
I know you will always make me.” 

“Bless you for your faith in me, my darling,” Lorrie 
said, smiling into the face that her own words had 
caused to flush a rosy red. “ It helps me to have faith 


244 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


in myself ; and without that, even your love could not 
make me really happy.” He said this with a touch of 
sadness in his eyes and voice that Lynette could not 
bear to see, and did not understand. 

“Don’t you see, dearest,” he said in answer to her 
perplexed look, “ that when a man has once failed — been 
tried and found wanting — he must lose faith in him- 
self? A deadly sense of insecurity is always ready to 
take possession of him, and a feeling of unworthiness 
to crop up and shadow his deepest joys. It is his pun- 
ishment — it is inevitable.” 

“Oh, but I cannot have you feel so,” cried Lynette, 
loosing one hand to clasp his in both of hers. “ I will 
not let you talk, or think, of punishment and inevita- 
bles. When I have been bad to Tiny, and I say I am 
sorry and wish I had never done it, and never will 
again, I expect him to forgive me, and never give my 
badness another thought ; and so he does. What should 
I think if he talked about it, and if he didn’t love me 
just the same, and trust me just the same? Oh, no! 
And, what is more, no matter how often I am bad, it 
must always be just the same. And so you, dear Lor- 
rie, must forgive yourself, and feel as sure of j^ourself 
as — I do ! and ?iobody could possibly be surer of any- 
thing than that !” 

“My sweet comforter!” said Lorrie, his glowing 
eyes fixed on the eager face. 

“But you must promise,” she said, with sweet insis- 
tence; “you must say: ‘Lynette, I will put every 
thought out of my mind that isn’t kind to myself — 
every thought that would keep me from being happy 
in your’ — oh,” she cried, blushing and turning aAvay 
from his eyes, “you know what I mean — you are to 
promise to forgive and forget, as if somebody else, not 
yourself, had done wrong — and to be happy; let me 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


245 


make you happy,” she ended, in a tone of tender 
entreaty. 

Lorrie could not trust himself to speak at once. “ I 
will do my best to ” he began at length, but she in- 

terrupted him. 

“ No, that is not enough,” she cried. “ You know if 
you are not as happy as I am I shall not be as happy as 
you are !” She laughed at her intricate little prophec}". 
“ That means, that if I see sad looks coming into your 
eyes, I shall know — and I shall be miserable. So now 
will you promise?” 

“You shall never be miserable, so help me God!” 
Lorrie answered, in a voice of deep feeling. 

Lynette’s heart had been too full of happiness and of 
Lorrie to leave room for a thought of anything else ; 
and when, suddenly, the sound of Clive’s voice in the 
distance made itself heard, she looked at Lorrie with 
startled eyes. 

“ What — ivhat will Tiny say? and papa? and 
mamma?” she cried in little gasps. “ Oh, they ivill 
think I have taken a great deal upon myself !” 

“You are not afraid, are you, my own?” asked Lor- 
rie, clasping her hands to keep her mindful that she 
belonged to him. Sybil’s warning had not occurred to 
him ; but if it had, he would have said there was no 
formal engagement, but that two people could not love 
each other without its making a bond between them. 

“Afraid?” Lynette cried, “indeed I am not! I am 
only proud and happy !” and the poise of her head con- 
firmed her words. “ All the world couldn’t make me 
afraid when I know that — you love me. Oh,” she ex- 
claimed, with a sudden pallor, “I was so wretched 
when the letters came this morning! the thought of 
going away was so terrible ! I thought I must have 
died.” 


246 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“And now?” said Lorrie, feeling that to have her go 
now was more than he could possibly live through. 

“Oh, now! — it will be dreadful,” she replied, “but 
not what it would have been if I had found — -as I should 
—that I felt as I do, after I was gone — and hadn’t 
known — tell me,” she said, with a sudden change of 
tone, “ do you really believe that it is such a very little 
while since we came to St. Clements? since I — oh, how 
muld you love me!” she cried, her face flushing hotly; 
“such a hoydenish, childish, tempery ivilfid young 
lady 9 ’ ” 

“I had no choice — I couldn’t help myself,” Lorrie 
answered, feasting his eyes on the changeful beauty of 
her face. 

“ I am glad of that !” she exclaimed. “ I am glad 
you didn’t have to try ; and you didn’t see me in com- 
pany manners, either, though I ought, of course, to 
have had them on when I came to visit your sister. I 
can’t think how it was,” she went on with a quaint 
little air of considering — and Lorrie was more than 
content to listen — “that I didn’t seem able to behave 
properly, for I never, never ^ was so anxious to be 
nice, and have people like me — I think I never was 
in the least anxious before. I thought Sybil so beauti- 
ful and kind, when she found me on the rocks, and you 
were her brother — unless it was that kind fate meant 
you to see me at my very worst, so that you need never 
repent, if you were so rash as to — to care for me. And 
to think,” she added, turning suddenly to Lorrie, with 
quickened breath and dilating eyes, “ that you should 
have been so good, after all my badness, as to carry 
me across that fearful place ! Oh, that I should have 
put you in such frightful danger — my Lorrie!” She 
covered her face with her hands to shut out the picture. 

“I can’t have you grieve over that, my sweet,” Lor- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


247 


rie said, “ for I think — I am sure — it was then while I 
had you in my arms, and we were both in danger, that 
I began to love you !” Lynette gave him an eloquent 
look, and he went on. “You were warned, too — don’t 
forget that. You must remember how cross and disa- 
greeable I was, and how I hurt your poor little hands; 
and ” 

“ I shall not ! any more than you will remember all 
my ‘tantrums,’ as Tiny calls them.” Just then Lorrie 
lifted a lovely wavelet of hair that had fallen over her 
forehead, and put it back, with an indescribable air of 
ownership that Lynette felt with a thrill of gladness. 
She sighed a sigh of absolute content. “ Oh,” she said, 
“ I feel as if I must have lived a great deal longer than 
I have, and felt as I do now the most of that long time 
— only that I never dreamed of such heavenly happiness 
until now ! Lorrie, I must thank you for it — but how 
can I?” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


Are there not 


Two points in the adventure of a diver? 

One — when, a beggar, he prepares to plunge, 
One— when, a prince, he rises with his pearl? 


— Browning. 


YNETTE and Lorrie had forgotten Clive from the 



I 1 moment that his voice startled them into con- 
sciousness of the existence of other things beside them- 
selves and their love. But now they heard him calling 
just outside the garden gate. 

“Tiny! wherever have you got to? Tine, Tine, 


Tine!” 


Lynette turned to Lorrie with troubled eyes. It 
seemed to her that to step beyond the shelter of those 
friendly leaves and blossoms would be to blazon her 
sweet secret to the world. Lorrie’s smile reassured her. 

“Don’t be troubled, dearest,” he said; “we will keep 
our secret from Clive, and every one, for the present, 
if you wish — shall we?” he asked hurriedly, as the 
latch of the gate clicked, and Clive’s foot crunched the 


gravel. 


“No!” she replied, with a sudden access of courage; 
“I will tell him — if I may,” she added, with a happy 
smile. 

“If you may? O darling, whatever you choose is 
what I choose !” responded Lorrie tenderly. 

So, flashing another smile at him, Lynette stepped 


248 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


249 


forth from the arbor, and stood bravely facing Clive 
as he came along the path. He stopped short when he 
saw her. 

“ ’Pon my word! So there you are! and I’ve been 
hunting for you for the last fifteen minutes! I sa}^, 
where’s Mr. Trevyllian? Why didn’t you both come 
to see the sunset, instead of staying in this poky little 
garden?” 

“ It’s the dearest little garden in the world,” returned 
Lynette. 

Lorrie wished she would give him a chance to thank 
her with his eyes, but she was careful not to look his 
way. 

“ Have you and Mr. Trevyllian quarrelled, that he 
has left you here all by yourself? hullo — here you are 
too!” he exclaimed, as, coming up with Lynette, he 
espied Lorrie seated composedly within the leafy en- 
closure; “I thought she didn’t look very deserted,” he 
added, going in and sitting down beside Lorrie and 
making room for Lynette. “What a jolly little place! 
rather contracted, but pretty in its way. You should 
have gone to the cliff, though. Miss Trevyllian and I 
have seen the gorgeousest sunset — last night’s wasn’t a 
patch on it. Your sister sent me to find you,” he said 
to Lorrie, “and a fine search I’ve had of it.” 

“Shall we go in, then?” asked Lorrie of Lynette. If 
Clive had been a few years older, and had had certain 
experiences, the tone in which the simple question was 
asked would have told him volumes. 

“Don’t bother about her; I’ll see that she gets in all 
right, and in good time for supper — it is supper on 
Sundays, isn’t it, as in all well-conducted English 
houses?” 

“Yes, it’s supper; you must bring her soon,” Lorrie 
said, taking out his watch, but eagerly studying Lyn- 


250 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ette’s face, trying to divine what she wished in the 
matter. 

She was not quite sure herself ; should she stay and 
tell Clive her wonderful secret? or should she leave the 
garden with Lorrie, and meet Sybil first under the 
shelter of his presence and let Clive hear of it later? 
“We will come very soon,” she said at length, a little 
faint-heartedly, thinking it would be kinder to Clive to 
stay. But as Lorrie disappeared beyond some thick- 
growing shrubs she changed her mind. “Lorrie! I 
will come with you !” she cried, starting to her feet. 

Lorrie was back on the instant, to find Lynette with 
her hands over her burning face and Clive gazing at 
her with an expression of blank amazement. “ Well, I 
never !” he ejaculated. 

“Let me tell him,” Lorrie pleaded, coming to Lyn- 
ette’s side. 

“No, I will,” she answered, taking her hands from 
her face. “ I said I would, and I will.” Her head was 
lifted now, and her voice had the proud ring in it, as 
before. 

By this time Clive was feeling very much as if he 
were dreaming — very much as he might have done in 
a dream, if he had seen her slowly turning into a bird, 
or a white doe. 

“Dear Tiny,” she began, standing before him with 
bright cheeks and downcast eyes, “ I have something 
wonderful to tell you.” , 

“ Wei will you not say ‘we’?” pleaded Lorrie. 

“We — have something to tell that you will — you 
must be very glad to hear. O Tiny,” she whispered, 
throwing her arms about him suddenly, “can you 
imagine anything sweeter — anything more beautiful, 
than that Lorrie shojild — love me?” 

Clive had grown very pale, and his lips quivered, as 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


251 


he held Lynette off so that he could see her face, and 
looked from her to Lorrie. “Do you \oYe Jiiyn?^^ he 
asked at last in such a solemn voice that Lynette was 
startled and Lorrie could not repress a smile. 

“ Oh, yes ! so much ! more than I could possibly tell 
you. Tiny,” Lynette answered softly. 

“Will you give her to me?” asked Lorrie, laying a 
hand on Clive’s shoulder. 

Clive stood motionless for a moment, looking as if 
there was a great deal he should like to say ; and then 
he threw off Lorrie’s hand, frowning fiercely to avoid 
doing something else, and strode away without a word. 
But he only went as far as the gate ; there he turned 
about, and strode back. Lorrie had taken Lynette’s 
hands, and so they stood, when he reappeared. 

“ I don’t mean to be unpleasant about this,” he said, 
trying to be off-hand, “ but you take a fellow so by sur- 
prise — you don’t give him a chance to know whether 
he’s on his head or his heels — whether he’s himself or 
somebody else. All I can say is,” he added, with a 
quaint fatherliness of manner, “that if you love her 
and she loves you — it’s a gone case, and of course I 
must let you have her. But I shall miss her most 
awfull}",” he cried, giving Lynette a boyish hug that 
lifted her off her feet. “O Tiny, why couldn’t you 
have waited and let me fall in love at the same time? 
it wouldn’t have been so confoundedly hard, then.” 

“ Poor Tiny — I meant to, ” Lynette returned, with a 
glance at Lorrie that said the rest. 

“ She’ll go to Scotland with me all the same, won’t 
she?” asked Clive. 

“Tiny! of course! what are you thinking of?” cried 
Lynette. 

“I am afraid I couldn’t prevent it,” Lorrie said, in a 
suggestive tone. 


252 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“All right, then — I’ll stand by you through thick 
and thin; count on me!” It became apparent what 
was in Clive’s mind, to suggest this assurance of aid 
and sympathy, when he said with a whimsical air to 
Lynette, “Won’t Lady Sara and the mater open their 
eyes? But I say ! ” he exclaimed suddenly, “ what will 
your sister think? Look here — won’t she be my sister 
too? of course she will if she’s Tiny’s! how jolly! 
That will help to console me for losing Tiny.” 

They left the garden together, and went to find Sybil. 

“She’s in the secret, of course,” Clive whispered, as 
they entered the house, and Sybil came to meet them. 

Lorrie made no reply; his eyes were smiling into 
Sybil’s, as he drew Lynette toward her, and laid the 
hand he had taken in hers. Sybil opened her arms, 
after a little gentle inspection of the happy face, and 
Lynette hid her tears and blushes on her shoulder. 

“You won’t mind his loving me, will you? and you 
will love me too?” she murmured. 

Sybil could not trust herself to speak, but she tenderly 
kissed the sweet face lifted to hers. “ I shall not sub- 
mit to be ignored any longer,” said Lorrie, coming and 
encircling them both in his arms. “Nor I!” cried 
Clive, throwing his arms round all three; and then, 
spreading out his hands over their heads he said, “Bless 
you, my children ! may you live long and prosper — my 
brother that is to be — my sisters! You might adopt 
me now,” he said to Sybil, as, keeping one of Lynette’s 
hands in hers, she turned rather an April face to him. 

“So I might, and so I will,” she returned, giving 
him the other hand, which he instantly raised to his 
lips with boyish gallantry. 

The visit at St. Hilda’s passed off most pleasantly. 
There was a good deal of talk about the storm, and the 
one little life that was saved, and much discussion and 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


253 


conjecture’ as to relationships, and so on, in which Lor- 
rie took but little part, but he felt amply rewarded for 
his efforts to make himself generally agreeable, when 
Mr. Penfill asked him if he and his sister could not 
make some errand up to London and join their party 
the next day. His yacht was to take them across — 
would not they at least take the sail with them, and 
come back in the yacht, if they did not care to do more? 

Sybil excused herself, on. the ground of not liking, to 
leave their little visitor again so soon, in spite of Lyn- 
ette’s and Clive’s entreaties. But Lorrie said that he 
had intended going to London in a day or two, and 
should be delighted to join them. 

Mr. Penfill thought it best to break the journey, in- 
stead of going on to London by the night express — it 
didn’t agree with young things to travel by night, and 
he didn’t wish his sister and Colonel Graham to find 
Lynette looking fagged when she got to Edinburgh. 

Lorrie commended this plan with just the proper 
amount of interest, saying to himself that it would give 
him a few more hours’ respite from the parting that no 
reasoning could make anything but tragic in his eyes. 


CHAPTER XXXIY. 

Tlien shall I be left 
So sad, so melancholy, so bereft. 

— Keats. 

T HATE leaving you behind,” Lorriesaid, as he was 

X starting off the next morning. “ If you would 
come with us it would have made the thing perfect, 
but now ” 

“Xow you will see those dear little things off, and 
— do your sad errand and hurry back to me. What 
shall you do first? I can’t think when you haven’t the 
smallest clew to begin upon.” 

“ I haven’t really decided what I shall do first,” Lor- 
rie answered hurriedly. He had not yet told Sybil the 
sad truth as to the shipwrecked man; he thought it 
better to wait until his return from London ; he shrank 
from leaving her with such sorrowful food for thought 
while he was gone. “ I am pretty certain to be back 
by the beginning of the week — unless I find I can’t 
stand it, and rush off to Scotland,” he added with a 
gleam of mischief in his eyes. 

“You can’t do that; you have promised me to write 
your letter to Colonel Graham, and wait, like a wise, 
good boy,” Sybil replied with a warning shake of her 
head. ' 

Lorrie groaned expressively. “ I shall write or tele- 
graph every day, so that you will be sure to know when 
to expect me.” 

Sybil walked back to the house, after seeing Lorrie 
254 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


255 


off for St. Hilda’s in the Sea Mew, feeling very empty- 
hearted ; and it was an immense relief to her feeling of 
loneliness to hear the little sea-king’s voice and see him 
running toward her. He came at Caroline’s instance to 
ask for a ride on Tommy, which of course he got ; and 
he kept Sybil too busy for sad thoughts for the rest of 
the day. 

The journey to London, sweet as it was to Lorrie 
and Lynette, was after all but a prolonged good-by, 
and Mr. Penfill began to say that despite his precau- 
tions in letting his niece have a good night’s rest, the 
journey was making her cheeks pale. Clive’s mis- 
chievous looks at such times made them anything but 
pale ; but, unfortunately, blushes are not abiding. 

Some one was at the station from Campden Hill to 
look after the young travellers and their luggage, and 
so Mr. Penfill left them, as he had an engagement to 
dine with a friend at his club, excusing himself from 
seeing them off so early next morning, when they would 
be sufficiently “ taken charge of ” by Mr. Brown and 
Lynette ’s maid. 

“ Look here, Lorrie, you’ve got to come home to din- 
ner with us,” Clive announced, as Lorrie and Lynette 
were sadly exchanging last words. “The longer we 
keep you the better for me,” he added, with a comically 
dismal look at Lynette’s troubled face. “ Mrs. Tyson 
is sure to give us a first-rate little dinner — she’s a tip- 
top cook and dotes on Tiny and me. And I’ll give you 
a wash and brush-up.” Lorrie had glanced at his dusty 
travelling suit, while he considered how surely Sybil 
would disapprove of such a highly unconventional pro- 
ceeding. 

“Do come,” pleaded Lynette’s lips and eyes, and it 
was not in the heart of man to refuse. So the port- 
manteau was dropped at Lorrie ’s hotel, and he went 


256 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


with them to the somewhat dismantled house at Camp- 
den Hill, the only drawback to that cosy dinner of 
three being that it was not a dinner of four, that Sybil 
was not there, and that the shadow of the parting hung 
over Lorrie and Lynette. 

It came terribly soon — that parting ; and if it had 
been for years instead of weeks, the young lovers could 
hardly have felt more utterly forlorn as the train 
steamed away. Clive tried his best to make a diver- 
sion by an exaggerated show of grief — leaning out of 
the window and wagging his head dismally, and then 
burying his face in his outspread handkerchief. But 
in spite of all his efforts Lynette was dissolved in real 
tears — ^which it is to be feared did not pass unnoticed 
by her maid and Mr. Brown — and Lorrie’s heart was 
desperately heavy, as he turned away when the train 
had disappeared. 

He went gloomily back to his hotel and indited his 
letter to Colonel Graham ; and a most difficult matter it 
proved. It occupied a great deal of time, and wasted 
many sheets of paper; but at last it was accomplished, 
though not to his satisfaction. “It’s the best I can 
do,” he declared, as he thrust it into the envelope. 

For the next hour or two he lay on the couch, forget- 
ful of everything except his love for Lynette and her 
love for him, and his hopes and fears. But at length 
there came a recollection of the duty before him, and 
feeling that it would be a relief to have it over, he 
ordered a cab at once and drove to Harley Street, where 
Dr. Thornton and his brother had always had rooms 
together. 

Mr. Thornton was not at home, and the servant 
could give him no information as to his movements, so 
Lorrie went in to make some inquiries of the house- 
keeper. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


257 


“ Mr. Thornton has been away for the last week, sir,” 
Mrs. Johnson said; “he is with his poor mother in 
Kent; she is very, very ill, as perhaps you know.” 

“ Then he is not likely to be back within a day or 
two?” 

“ I should think not, sir. I doubt if he will leave 
his mother while she lives; she can’t live long, I’m 
afraid. You know, sir, I suppose, that the doctor is 
hurrying home, in the hope of seeing his mother alive, 
and that his steamer is overdue? not that he knew, 
before he sailed, how despret ill she was. There was 
another gentleman here this morning asking after Mr. 
Thornton,” she added, as Lorrie made no response, 
“ and he seemed to know all about the doctor. I almost 
thought he spoke as if he’d been with him abroad.” 

“Could it have been Lord Netherby?” asked Lorrie, 
startled and puzzled. 

“ I really can’t say, sir, as I never had the pleasure 
of seeing Lord Nether by. It was a tall, very dark 
gentleman.” 

Lorrie shook his head; “Lord Netherby is fair.” 

“ He asked to see any letters that were waiting for 
the doctor, and I showed him all there were. I’ll just 
fetch them,” and Mrs. Johnson hurried away without 
waiting for Lorrie to say yes or no, soon returning with 
three letters and a telegram. “That one,” she said, 
“ is from his brother. I know his writing. It came 
last night, and I was afraid it might be to say poor Mrs. 
Thornton was worse ; you see it’s marked, ‘ Immediate. ’ ” 

“This telegram is for Mr. Thornton,” Lorrie said. 
“ I sent him one yesterday — don’t you forward his 
letters?” 

Lorrie had thought it best to telegraph, announcing 
his intended visit, but his having done so had slipped 
his memory until now. 

17 


258 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


‘‘Yes, sir, indeed I do, but I thought that was for 
the doctor,” Mrs. Johnston replied, much concerned. 

“ The address might easily be mistaken for Dr. — it is 
in fact ‘D’ Thornton. I think I may venture to open 
it, as if it is the one I sent, it is as well that it should 
not be forwarded now.” 

Having glanced at the telegram Lorrie put it in his 
pocket and turned to go. He had seen that the letters 
had Indian post-marks. -- 

“ It’s a strange thing,” Mrs. Johnson remarked, “ that 
the other gentleman was just going to put the letters 
in his pocket, as you have the telegram, sir, but he 
changed his mind, and said that, though he wrote 
them himself, he’d best, perhaps, leave them. And he 
said — what I was very pleased to hear, for I’d been 
feeling a bit worried at the doctor’s not coming as soon 
as he expected — that it wern’t to be wondered at, as 
he missed the reg’lar steamer, and had to take a slow 
one from Bavaria, I think that was the place he said.” 

Lorrie looked so troubled that Mrs. Johnson offered 
to fetch him a glass of wine or a little brandy, but he 
thanked her and departed. He stood for a moment to 
consider, and then told the cabby to drive to Blanco’s ; 
he had taken nothing since his early cup of coffee, be- 
fore seeing Lynette and Clive off, and while he ate his 
lunch he decided what to do next. 

The thought of meeting Herman Hargreave — of 
seeking him, at least — was anything but pleasant; but 
he was the person, after Dr. Thornton’s brother, to 
whom to go with his dismal facts. He might be out 
of reach, too ; but it would be sheer cowardice not to 
try to find him; and when he left Blanco’s he went to 
Norman’s club. 

Norman had not been seen at the club for the last 
month, so Lorrie drove to Portman Square. He might 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


259 


at least get his present address, and if he need only 
write to him — so much the better. 

The servant was not sure whether he was in or not — 
he would see, and he showed Lorrie into the library. 
Lorrie was rather glad that it was a strange servant 
who let him in — not one of the old ones who knew him 
so well. 

So Norman was in town; were Mr. Hargreave and 
Lady Sara at home, too? was he to meet them, .ns well 
as Norman, now? The door-handle turned and he 
started — had the moment come? No, it was the ser- 
vant to say that Mr. Norman was expected in very soon ; 
would he wait? Yes, he would wait. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


My heart is very tired, my strength is low, 

My hands are full of blossoms, plucked before. 
Held dead within them till myself shall die. 


— Mrs. Browning. 


ORRIE looked about the familiar room. Nothing 



Jj was changed since the old days — nothing was 
new, except a full-length portrait of Lady Nether by. 
He stood before it without the quickening of a pulse, 
and smiled to think of Sybil’s fears. And yet it was 
Nixie’s self, the sunny brown eyes, the clear brunette 
complexion with the soft color in the cheek, the lurking 
dimples about the mouth and chin, and the sweet lips, 
ready to smile at the smallest provocation ; and there 
was the same slight, graceful figure, that only seemed 
less girlish than the Nixie of old, because of the added 
dignity that became her wifely estate. She seemed to 
smile into his eyes — “ as she will some day, ” he thought. 

As he stood thus, gazing and dreaming, he heard a 
slight sound — the slow opening and shutting of a door, 
and then of softly trailing garments ; and turning, he 
sav^ in the dim light of the room, a slight, dark figure 
coming slowly toward him . As it drew near he looked 
upon what seemed to him the saddest face he had ever 
beheld : thin, white cheeks, and eyes and lips that he 
was sure could never smile again, if they had ever 
smiled. And this was Nixie — the saddest shadow of 
herself, and clad in widow’s weeds. He felt stunned, 
and could only gaze at her in speechless distress. 


260 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


261 


“ Is it you, Lorrie?” she said listlessly, as she met 
his eyes; ‘‘how do you do?” and she gave him her 
hand. It was like a spirit hand; it seemed lost in his 
grasp. 

“ Were you looking at that?” she asked, in the same 
listless voice, with a slight motion of her hand toward 
the picture before which they stood. “You should not 
— there is no such person now.” 

“Come and sit down,” Lorrie said with an aching 
heart, gently leading her to a couch and sitting down 
beside her. “ I am afraid you have been ill, dear 
Nixie,” he said, quite unconscious of having called her 
by the old name ; and she took no notice of it. 

“ Yes, I have been ill,” she answered wearily. “ But 
— my husband, do you know?” 

Lorrie shook his head as she fixed her mournful eyes 
upon him. 

“ You don’t know? You haven’t heard— that I have 
left him in that strange, sad land across the sea? I have 
lost him — lost him !” Her voice was like a dirge, and 
it seemed to Lorrie that she had wept so much she had 
no more tears to shed. “ But he knows — you think he 
knows, don’t you?” 

‘ “ I am sure he knows all that he would be the happier 

for knowing.” Whatever misgivings Lorrie may have 
had as to the truth of his answer, were swallowed up 
in his desire to satisfy the yearning that looked from 
those great, sad eyes. 

“ If he does, he knows that when I have found little 
Jack, our little son, we shall go back together to be 
near him, and he is not thinking that I have forsaken 
him. He used to say,” she went on in the same 
mournful monotone, “that where I was was ‘home’ to 
him ; and where he sleeps shall be my home forever- 
more, until I go to him. I should go very soon if I 


262 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


lost our little son, too.” Lorrie felt she was right, as 
he looked upon the fragile figure beside him — “ but if I 
find him, as I shall — I must stay for his sake. But 
oh,” she sighed, clasping her thin hands, “when will 
he come? I am so tired of waiting and watching. I 
want him in these empty arms.” 

While Lorrie was wondering where Little Jack could 
be, not daring to ask, she turned to him. “Perhaps 
you don’t know that our little son came away from that 
sad place before we — before I did. We were obliged 
to let him leave because he was pining so, and my hus- 
band was so ill — we couldn’t come; and he came with 
Dr. Thornton, and I expected to find him here — I only 
came to find him, but no one seems to know where he 
is — my baby boy !” 

Lorrie had started to his feet when Nixie named Dr. 
Thornton, but controlled the impulse to say — “ I know 
where he is ! I will bring him to you !” His thought 
was, as he quietly seated himself, that a sudden emo- 
tion, even of joy, might be disastrous to her, in her weak 
state. His second thought, in its revulsion from abso- 
lute certainty to sickening doubt, made him shiver; 
but as the facts of the case passed swiftly through his 
mind, in the almost imperceptible pause after Nixie" 
ceased speaking, again he was absolutely certain that 
he should restore her child to those ‘empty arms.’ 

“I am sure you may trust Dr. Thornton to have 
taken every care of your little son,” he said, forcing 
himself to speak calmly. “ You know so many things 
might delay their reaching England ; they came by a 
slow steamer, for one thing.” There could be no harm 
in his encouraging poor Nixie, even if his conviction 
that Dr. Thornton had saved her child had been less 
well founded. 

“ Yes, I know, but it is time they were here now — 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


263 


more than time. It seems a life-time since he left us, 
when my darling was so ill. If anything should hap- 
pen to him ” 

“But nothing will happen to him,” said Lorrie earn- 
estly, with difficulty refraining from putting into words 
the certainty he felt. “ Believe me, you need have no 
fear ; only be patient for a little while. ” 

“ A little while?” repeated Nixie, with a feverish flush 
over her wan face. 

“Yes, a few days,” Lorrie replied gently ; “that is 
not long.” 

“Not long? oh, you don’t know! It is an eternity, 
when a mother is waiting for her child — to know that 
he is safe — and her husband is in heaven.” Nixie 
clasped her hands and looked at Lorrie with eyes full 
of despairing appeal. 

“But you will promise to try to be patient,” Lorrie 
urged gently, “ if I promise to do all I possibly can to 
find him, and bring him to you?” 

“ What can you do? how can you find him and bring 
him to me?” demanded Nixie, fixing her eyes search- 
ingly upon his, as one whose very life is staked on the 
good faith of another’s assurance. 

“ I have such absolute confidence in Dr. Thornton’s 
devotion,” he replied, his voice faltering in spite of 
himself. 

To his intense relief at that moment the door opened 
and Mr. Hargreave entered. He paused when he saw 
that some one was with Nixie; and Nixie started to 
her feet, crying out in a thin, sharp voice that pierced 
the heart of her father and Lorrie : “ Papa ! have you 
found him? has he come?” 

“Not yet, my child,” her father answered sadly, 
coming toward her; and recognizing Lorrie, who was 
standing with a look of mingled pleasure and embar- 


264 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


rassment on his face, he cried with a ring of gladness 
in his voice, “Why, Lorrie! Lorrie! my dear hoy, is 
it really you?” and he grasped Lorrie’s hands. “ Well, 
this is an unexpected pleasure ! How long have you 
been in town? Where did you come from?” 

“I came up from St. Clements yesterday,” Lorrie 
replied, more touched than he could have expressed by 
his old friend’s kind greeting. 

“ And how is my old favorite, Sybil?” 

“ She is very well thank jmu.” 

“Sybil? where is Sybil? why doesn’t she come and 
see me?” Nixie asked listlessly. 

“ She will come ; you will bring her to see our poor 
little Nixie, won’t you, Lorrie?” Mr. Hargreave said, 
leading Nixie to the couch and sitting down beside her, 
with his arm about her. 

“ Indeed I will. She will be only too glad to come, 
when she hears that Nixie is at home again.” 

“She will be very sorry when she sees me,” Nixie 
said mournfully, looking down at her crape dress. 
“You will tell her, and tell her that I haven’t even my 
little son to comfort me yet, but that I am trying to be 
patient. Lorrie says, papa, that he will help to find 
little Jack, and I am trying not to wonder what he can 
do.” She looked with grave questioning up at Lorrie. 

Mr. Hargreave could not speak. He glanced at Lor- 
rie and gently stroked the head that lay on his breast. 

“I wished very much to see Norman,” Lorrie said; 
“do you think he will be in soon?” 

“I am sure he will. In fact, I think I heard the 
front door shut this very minute.” 

“ O Lorrie, go quickly and see if he has heard any- 
thing,” cried Nixie, with a bright spot of color in each 
thin cheek; but before Lorrie had reached the door, 
Norman opened it and came in. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. * 


265 


A flash of utter surprise passed over his face as his 
eyes fell on Lorrie, but he instantly held out his hand, 
saying in a cordial, pleasant tone, as if they had met 
yesterday, “How are you, Trevy Ilian? Iliad no idea 
you were in town.” Then he hurried on to Nixie, who 
was watching him with dilated eyes. He put his arms 
about her with infinite tenderness and whispered some- 
thing that no one else heard. Then he placed her 
gently on the couch beside his father and sat down, 
still holding her hand. 

“ It must, it shall be little Jack,” Lorrie declared to 
himself, when he saw the weary disappointment in 
Nixie’s face, as her head drooped against her father 
once more. 

“ I hope your sister is well,” Norman said, “ Is she 
in town too?” 

“No, she is at St. Clements, I came up yesterday,” 
Lorrie answered, nervously turning the leaves of a 
book as he sat by the table. 

“Lorrie has been waiting to see you, Norman,” his 
father said, seeing these signs of impatience. 

“Oh, then we might go to the smoking-room,” and 
Norman led the way. 

“You’ll stay and have pot-luck with us, Lorrie,” 
called Mr. Hargreave, as they were disappearing 

“ Thank you very much, but I am afraid I must not.” 

“Oh, yes, you must. We won’t take any excuses. 
You don’t leave town to-night, surely?” 

“Yes, I fully expect to,” Lorrie returned. 

“ All the same, you can stay to dinner,” said Norman. 
“Your train doesn’t go till late— that is, if you are 
going back to St. Clements?” 

“Yes.” 

“All right, I shall keep him,” and Norman closed 
the door behind them. 


266 


* SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ Had you heard of poor Netherhy’s death?” he asked, 
when they reached the smoking-room, offering Lorrie 
a cigar, which he refused. 

“No, we had heard nothing. I was inexpressibly 
shocked at seeing Lady Netherby in black. Have you 
a likeness of her little boy?” 

“Oh, yes, there are several about the house. I’ll 
fetch one, if you would like to see it,” Norman an- 
swered, wondering not a little at Lorrie ’s sudden 
question. 

“I am most anxious to see one,” Lorrie replied, fol- 
lowing Norman to the door in his eagerness. 

Norman came back from his quest with a small velvet 
case in his hand. “ I imagine that this miniature is as 
like him now as anything we have; poor Netherby 
painted it himself, not long before his illness, and he 
was very clever at getting likenesses.” 

Lorrie took the case eagerly, yet paused an instant 
before he put his hope to the test — the hope that involved 
so much, while Norman stood by, utterly at a loss to 
understand why his hand should be unsteady and his 
face so agitated. 

One glance was enough. When Lorrie opened the 
case, the picture being a perfect likeness of the little 
sea-king — the blue eyes, the sunny curls, the very same 
earnest, bright little face — there was no mistaking it. 

“ Thank God !” he ejaculated fervently. “ Hargreave, 
little Jack is safe! He is at this moment with Sybil 
at St. Clements, and I shall bring him to Nixie as fast 
as boats and trains will let me.” 

“With Sybil, do you say?” asked Norman, with a 
calmness he was far from feeling. “ How can that be? 
Where is Thornton? This is all a mystery.” 

“I will explain,” Lorrie said, steadying his voice. 
“There was a storm a few nights ago, in which a 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


267 


steamer was wrecked off St. Clements, and poor Thorn- 
ton was washed ashore with little Jack in his arms.” 

Norman walked up and down the room before he 
could trust himself to speak, while Lorrie looked at the 
picture again with unspeakable satisfaction. 

‘‘ I didn’t know how little hope I had,” Norman said 
at length, pausing near Lorrie. “ But — where is 
Thornton?” he asked, fearing the worst. 

“ He was dead when they came ashore, ” Lorrie an- 
swered in a husky voice. “ He lies in the churchyard 
at St. Clements ; we buried him last Sunday. ” 

There was a long silence. “ Poor Thornton, ” Norman 
said at last; “ it is incredibly sad. But what af miracle 
— his saving the child in spite of — his own sad fate !” 

“Yes, it was little short of a miracle, even with all 
the precautions and care he had taken — care that saved 
little Jack from so much as a bruise.” 

“ Tell me as much as you know about it all,” Norman 
said. 

Lorrie told the story of the wreck as far as it was 
known, and how the two relics that were saved had 
revealed to him the terrible truth as to the identity of 
the shipwrecked man. 

“Of course,” he said, “not knowing that Thornton 
had brought Lady Netherby’s little boy home with 
him, my identifying him told me nothing regarding 
the child ; I could only take it for granted that he be- 
longed to one of the passengers, with no special claim 
upon poor Thornton. But when Lady Netherby men- 
tioned the fact, conviction flashed upon me. I hope I 
did right not to tell her at the time ; I was afraid a 
shock, even of joy, might be too much for her, she is 
so very frail, and then it seemed safer to verify my 
convictions first — as I have,” he added, with another 
glance at the likeness. 


268 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ It was better,” Norman returned ; “ but now we can 
break the good news to her gradually, and it will be the 
best medicine. Are you really intending to start for 
St. Clements to-night?” 

“Yes, certainly, and I hope to be back with little 
Jack by Sunday.” 

“ I had better go with you and bring him myself, ” 
Norman said. “ Why should you have the bother of 
the journey again?” 

“ No, indeed,” returned Lorrie, “ I could not consent to 
that. I should be sorry to miss the pleasure of delivering 
him to his mother, and besides, I quite believe that Sybil 
will want to come too. It will be very hard for her to part 
with our little sea-king— he is a most winning little fel- 
low ; we are very fond of him, and I think Sybil will 
be glad to delay the parting. It will be a great blow 
to her when she hears that it was Thornton,” he added. 
“ I haven’t told her yet. I couldn’t bear to leave her to 
grieve over it while I was away.” 

Lorrie had mentioned the two photographs, in his 
account of the wreck, without one thought of the secret 
— Sybil’s secret — that this possession by their lost 
friend had disclosed to him ; but if he had been looking 
at Norman then, and now again when he spoke of 
having kept the truth from Sybil, he must have been 
struck by the change that passed over his face, and he 
might have noticed that he shifted his position a little, 
so that his back was against the light. 

“ I hope Lady Sara is well” — Lorrie wondered why 
Lady Sara had not appeared. It seemed incredible 
that she should not have been there to receive and care 
for poor Nixie. 

“ Unfortunately, my mother is confined to her room at 
Eden Wyck with a very severe attack of neuralgia,” 
Norman replied. “ Of course, it is a great grief to her 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


269 


not to be with Nixie now, but she is quite unfit to travel, 
and we can’t take Nixie to Eden until she has the little 
boy and is stronger.” 

“ She will get well and be herself again after a little 
— don’t you think so?” Lorrie said. 

“ Yes, the doctor says she will begin to improve as 
soon as this terrible suspense is over; so you see what 
you are doing for her and for us all.” With the pres- 
sure of grateful feeling Norman wrung Lorrie’s hand, 
and neither spoke for a time. “ You have not seen poor 
Thornton’s brother, I suppose,” Norman said, breaking 
the silence at length. 

“No; I called at his rooms before coming here; but 
he was with his mother in Kent. She is very ill, as 
you no doubt know, and watching for her poor son’s 
return.” 

“Yes, I know. There really seems no end to the 
tragedy of the whole thing,” Norman replied gravely. 

“Lady Netherby didn’t come home alone, did she?” 
Lorrie asked, after a pause. 

“ No, she came with Dr. Ingham, Thornton’s friend, 
who took his place when he was obliged to leave them. 
He was invaluable during poor Netherby’s illness, and 
to Nixie after his death. She was crushed by the 
blow and prostrated by the heat, and everything de- 
pended on her getting home and finding little Jack; 
and Ingham arranged it all and carried it through — 
all except the one thing that was out of his power, and 
that you are going to do for her.” Norman’s voice 
and eyes expressed much. 

“ She tells me she is going back to Java with her 
child,” Lorrie said. 

“I know — poor little Nixie! she feels so now, and 
one can’t wonder at it; but she will only need to re- 
member, when she has her child again, how ill he was 


270 


&YBIL THEVYLLIAN. 


there — that it was to save his life that he was sent away 
with poor Thornton, at his father’s desire, too — and 
she will give up the sad dream and be willing to live 
in England for his sake.” 

“ It would have been a great comfort to her, I should 
think, if her husband’s remains could have been brought 
home. ” 

“ Of course it would, and I have no doubt it will be 
done. Netherby’s uncle and brother were talking of it 
yesterday.” 

“It seems rather strange,” Lorrie said, “that the 
Grahams and the Penfills should not have known of 
Lord Netherby’s death — to say nothing of the child’s 
having come home with the doctor.” 

“We knew nothing of it ourselves until I met Mxie 
at Brindisi,” answered Norman — “until I saw her in 
her widow’s dress on the steamer.” He paused, rest- 
ing his forehead on his hand for a moment, as if the 
scene were before him. “All the circumstances have 
been to the last degree trying,” he went on. “In the 
first place, we never got Thornton’s telegram from 
Batavia, telling us that he was bringing little Jack, 
though Ingham says that everything was most definitely 
arranged before they left Buitenzorg. Nixie was so 
anxious that we should not be alarmed at hearing of 
the child’s coming without them, and it is impossible 
to suppose that Thornton failed to send it. ” 

“ Quite impossible !” echoed Lorrie. 

“ And yet we had neither letter nor telegram, after 
the letter from Thornton telling of the necessity of his 
hurrying home and his great wish to bring little Jack 
with him, until Ingham’s telegram from Suez, asking 
me to meet them at Brindisi.” 

“Very extraordinary!” ejaculated Lorrie. 

“ Of course Thornton mentioned the fact of Ingham’s 


SYBIL TREVYLLlAN, 


271 


remaining in his place, and that was a great comfort 
while we were in ignorance as to whether he had left 
them or not, and fortunately the delay was not so long 
as it seemed.” 

“ And you didn’t know whether little Jack had come 
with him, supposing he had come himself?” 

“No, we knew nothing; we could only suppose the 
plan had been given up and hope for the best, as the 
days went by bringing no news ; and of course we were 
hourly expecting tidings of some sort.” 

“ What were the letters to Thornton that I saw at 
his lodgings?” asked Lorrie. 

“Letters written by Ingham, after poor Netherby’s 
death, and on their arrival in the yacht at Ceylon,” re- 
plied Norman. “ Ingham felt that it would be kinder 
to us all here not to announce the sad news by tele- 
graph so long before letters could possibly reach us with 
particulars, and before poor Nixie could get home. And 
he sent the letters to Thornton, supposing he would be 
here in time to break the news before she arrived.” 

“It was very considerate,” said Lorrie. 

“ Yes. They left the yacht at Ceylon and took a P. 
and O., as Nixie was in such feverish haste to get 
home and find her little son. Of course we were 
greatly puzzled by the telegrams from Suez, asking me 
to meet them at Brindisi, and to engage a sleeping-car- 
riage by a certain train to Calais. You can imagine 
what it was to find her looking so terribly ill — such a 
sad wreck of her bright self, and in widow’s dress.” 

“Yes, I can,” Lorrie answered. 

“It was then that I heard, for the first time, that 
little Jack had really come with Thornton; and know- 
ing that they were over-due, I greatly feared that a 
new sorrow awaited Nixie. I telegraphed to my father 
what was necessary to prepare them, and asking for 


272 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


news, if there were any, of the doctor and the child — 
and the rest you know. Thank God for the happy de- 
liverance from those last fears !” Norman said fervently. 
“ What time does your train go?” 

“ About nine, I believe. I am not sure to the minute.” 

“We will consult the time-table; but you will have 
plenty of time to stay and have some dinner. It will 
be a real act of benevolence,” Norman added, as Lorrie 
looked doubtful ; and so it was settled. 

Mr. Hargreave sent a message to Sybil, languidly sec- 
onded by Nixie, that she was to come and stay with 
them until they went to Eden Wyck. “We’ll take her 
with us to Eden, shall we, little one?” 

“ Yes, papa,” Nixie answered absently. Her thoughts 
had gone suddenly over the sea. She was not even 
thinking of little Jack. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


Oh, summer day, beside the joyous sea ; 

Oh, summer day, so wonderful and white. 

So full of gladness and so full of pain. 

— Longfellow. 

T he “ long blue hours serenely flowing ” had 
brought Sybil to Friday morning, and a tele- 
gram from Lorrie had said he should be at home that 
afternoon. 

She was as glad as if he had been gone months in- 
stead of days. It added brightness to the sunshine and 
charm to the scene on which she stood gazing, when 
she had thrown up her window. “ I never know when 
I love it most — all this wonder of beauty,” she said to 
herself as she gazed, “ in the early morning, or at sun- 
set, or by moonlight, or in the glory of the noontide. 
One thing is certain — I can never again delight in the 
sea when it is angry and contends masterfully with the 
steadfast rocks, as I used. That lonely grave and the 
poor little orphaned sea-king will always make it seem 
cruel and fateful, except when it is still and sunny as 
it is now. This is like enchantment. It would hardly 
surprise me to see it begin this moment to fade slowly 
away, or to sink softly into the blue depths like a sec- 
ond Lyonesse.” 

Suddenly she turned from the window with dancing 
eyes and smiling lips, as the sound of something soft 
and small knocking at her door fell on her ear. “ Who’s 

there?” she cried. 

18 


273 


274 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“Boy!” came in a ringing little voice from out- 
side. 

The most skilful questionings had, as yet, gained 
from the little sea-king but the one answer as to his 
name — “ Boy,” and whether it were a baby abbreviation 
of his real name, or only what it seemed, who could 
say, and who would have been the wiser for knowing? 

“And what does Boy want?” cried Sybil, throwing 
wide the door. 

“ I want 00 !” said the ringing voice, and the little 
sea-king threw himself into her arms. 

Sybil had missed Lorrie sadly, and she had missed 
Lynette and Clive too, they had made such a warm 
place in her heart for themselves ; but the interest and 
occupation supplied by the little stranger had prevented 
her being dull. She was never tired of listening to his 
prattle, and since he had pretty well recovered from the 
shock of his terrible adventure, his voice was rarely 
silent except when he was asleep. That he was happy, 
as every little child has a right to be, gave his new 
friends the greatest satisfaction, as may be supposed. 
He constantly talked of “ Dotta,” but it was no longer 
with the childish despair it had been so painful to see. 
He sometimes spoke of “ papa” and “ mamma,” but that 
was rather puzzling than otherwise to Sybil and Caro- 
line, in their anxious watchings for light on the mystery 
that enshrouded him, since his little references seemed 
to suggest their not having been on the steamer with 
him and “Dotta;” and they still believed it to have 
been his father who had saved him in his arms. 

There were several hours to wait after breakfast be- 
fore the boat was due, but they passed quickly and 
Sybil was at the landing to meet Lorrie. What was 
her dismay when he did not appear among the few 
passengers who came off the boat. She waited until 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


275 


she was forced to accept it as a disappointing fact that 
he had not come, and went mournfully back to Quesne. 

“ What can it mean, Caroline? He hasn’t come, and 
here is the telegram that says as plainly as possible 
‘to-morrow,’ and it is dated Thursday, so this is to- 
morrow.” 

“ I can’t think, unless Mr. Lorrie lost his train and 
had to wait for the next,” Caroline replied, full of sym- 
pathy with Sybil’s disappointment. 

“ But that means that he won’t he here until to-mor- 
row — another ‘to-morrow,’ and how can I wait? And 
how can we be sure that it wasn’t something more seri- 
ous than his losing his train that kept him ?” 

“ If it had been he would have sent you another mes- 
sage to say so,” urged Caroline, seeing the quiver of 
Sybil’s lip. 

“I couldn’t have got it yet, I’m afraid; but there! 
I won’t worry — more than I can help. I must try to 
think of something that will be very amusing for you 
and me to do, little sea-king !” she cried, as she espied 
the child hurrying down the stairs shoes in hand. He 
had waked from his nap and heard the voices of his 
friends below. His cheeks were like roses and his eyes 
like sleepy stars, and his curls all damp and tossed 
about like tangled threads of gold ; he looked “ a pic- 
ture,” as Caroline said. 

Sybil had obtained a kilt and shirts and a jaunty 
little jacket, and proper shoes and stockings for him, 
and he was reconciled to them now, although at first 
he did not approve their fashion, and clamored for his 
“ own.” 

“We will have Tommy out, shall we, little one?” said 
Sybil. “ Would you like a ride?” 

“ Yes, yes 1 I like yiding Tommy. I make him go 
velly fast to-day.” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


276 

They were soon ready to start, but Don was missing, 
and the little sea-king cried out lustily that Don must 
come too. 

“He’s in prison, miss,” Caroline replied to Sybil’s 
inquiries, with a suggestive smile. 

“ Poor Don ! what has he done that he should be in 
prison again so soon?” 

“ He helped himself to a bone that cook had told him 
was for Party.” 

“ That was very naughty of Don, but he must be re- 
leased to come with us,” and Sybil left Caroline to stand 
beside the little sea-king, while she went to intercede 
with cook for the culprit. A small room at the back 
of the kitchen served as prison and hospital — Sybil 
being the doctor and cook the jailer — and as Don had 
been in durance vile for an hour, and his punishment 
might be considered as adequate to his offence, he was 
released, to his great joy. When Sybil reappeared with 
him she found a new-comer on the scene — no other than 
Clive’s “specimen,” looking more uncivilized than 
ever. 

“Oh! how do you do, Betsy?” 

“I’se wull,” answered Betsy absently, her attention 
being absorbed in the contemplation of Tommy and 
his rider. 

“Shall I send her away at once?” asked Caroline. 
“You don’t want to be bothered with her now.” 

“I certainly don’t, but I must find out what she 
wants ; she must have some errand. Betsy, what did 
you come for? Did your mother send you? Speak at 
once, if you have anything to say ; if not, you had bet- 
ter run home.” A degree of firmness was needed to 
induce Betsy to pay any heed whatever. 

“ Mammy sent I fer to ax ee wad ee come an’ do 
som’at fer Sampy,” the girl blurted out, her eyes still 


27? 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 

fixed on the child and the donkey in open-eyed admira- 
tion. 

“ What is the matter with Sampy ?” asked Sybil. 

“ He’s burnt hissel’.” 

“ I am sorry to hear thai poor little boy. How did 
it happen?” 

“Un pulled ovver a pot o' bilin’ wotter onto hissel’; 
he’s awful bad.” 

“ He must be, poor child,” Sybil said with a shudder. 
“ I am afraid it is too bad a case for my skill, but I 
must go and do the best I can ; that will be rather bet- 
ter than Mrs. Spin’s treatment, I imagine.” 

“ You look quite white at the bare thought of it, miss,” 
said Caroline anxiously. 

“ Then T ought to be ashamed, after all my ambulance 
lectures. Oh, no! I’m not made of such dainty stuff, 
Caroline. You must tell Lydia to get ready to come 
with us, for I can’t disappoint my little king, and you 
can’t come with your bad foot. I may trust him with 
her — you think I may trust her to look after him while 
I am at the Spins’, don’t you?” 

“ If you tell her just what she is to do, I think you 
may.” 

Sj'bil decided to let Lydia take the child down to the 
Cove to play in the sands, in case he grew tired of rid- 
ing before her return. She had taken him there herself 
the day before, and he had been very happy making 
holes in the sand, in which he had easily persuaded his 
faithful vassal, Don Quixote, to bo buried, and with 
many anxious injunctions to Lydia, and having ex- 
changed flying kisses with the child until he was out 
of sight, she hurried on to get her trying duty over as 
quickly as possible. Caroline had dispatched Betsy as 
soon as she had told her errand, and Sybil thought no 
more about her. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


She found, on reaching the Spins’ cottage, that poor 
Sampy was, indeed, badly burned, and it called for all 
her courage to undertake the dressing of the wounds ; 
but seeing that nothing could be worse than leaving 
them as they were, she set bravely to work. 

At first all went well at the Cove. When the child 
was tired of riding Lydia lifted him down, and he was 
soon repeating his games of yesterday with the dogs, 
his merry laugh ringing out loud and clear, when Don’s 
black head was all that was visible of him above the 
silver sand. Suddenly a shrill scream came from where 
they had left Tommy peacefully nibbling a little while 
before; and Betsy Spin was discovered sprawling on 
his back, her arms clasped round his neck, while 
Tommy kicked with a degree of vicious energy that 
showed his nature to have been not wholly subdued by 
adversity, and which quickly compelled Betsy to loose 
her hold. Fortunately she had not far to fall, and 
though she made a “tremendous fuss,” as Lydia said, 
limping and groaning, “ as though all her bones were 
broken,” she was clearly not much hurt, for in a min- 
ute or two she darted off in the direction of the rocks 
to the left of the Cove, and scrambling up their steep 
face like a monkey, disappeared over the other side. 

Once over the crest of the rock, she peered downward ; 
and there, in the tiniest, but most complete and sheltered 
harbor imaginable, she saw what she was in search of 
— a boat, and no other than the Sea Mew. Betsy was 
very fond of boating, and her opportunities for indulg- 
ing her tastes were naturally limited, and always stolen ; 
and here was a chance not to be missed, as she had 
suddenly realized in the midst of her groanings over 
her fall ; she only regretted having wasted any precious 
moments over that “stoopid dawnkey.” It was but 
the work of minutes to reach the boat, untie it, push it 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


279 


off and jump in, and with some display of skill, paddle 
out of the tiny harbor. Then she sat down, and with 
effective, if erratic, strokes, she swept round the jutting 
rocks into the Cove, so intent on impressing Lydia by 
her prowess that she quite overlooked the fact that the 
boat was the property of Lydia’s mistress; and with 
swelling pride she neared the sands. 

But a change had come over the scene since Betsy 
left it. As the boat ran half its length up the sands, 
impelled by her strong arms, her eyes fell, first of all, 
on Don, standing in the water up to the last set of 
ruffles on his long legs, and wagging his tufted tail ex- 
citedly. He was intently watching the little sea-king, 
as Betsy next discovered with a chuckle, whose feet 
were buried in the wet sand ; his black kilt was fringed 
with it, and his sleeves were wet to the elbows, with 
trying to catch the curling foam as it crept up to him. 

“ Laws ! here’s a go !” muttered Bets}", having taken 
in that much of the situation ; “ where’s that ’ere Lyddy, 
I’d like ter know !” 

The melancholy truth was that Lydia was asleep, 
on the very spot where Betsy had left her wide awake 
not so very long ago. Sleep had overtaken her like an 
enemy in ambush ; one minute she was sitting up with- 
out a thought of being sleepy, watching the child at his 
play close by ; the next minute she thought how warm 
it was, and settled herself more comfortably, with her 
head on her arm, still alert and watchful, and laughing 
at the little sea-king’s funny ways with Don; the next 
minute there was no child for her to watch, nor sands, 
nor sea, nor duty ; Lydia herself had ceased to be for 
the time. Sancho and Bobbie had followed her exam- 
ple and stretched themselves for a nap in the sunshine ; 
Tommy nibbled contentedly at whatever he could find 
in the way of a savory morsel ; while the child, finding 


280 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


that Lydia no longer responded to his questions, and 
that he was left to his own devices, wandered with the 
ever-faithful Don down to the water’s edge, delighting 
in the change from digging holes in the sand to dab- 
bling in the curling foam ; and there the enterprising 
Betsy found him. 

She jumped out of the boat as soon as she suspected 
the truth, and tip-toed toward Lydia to make quite sure 
that she was fast asleep ; and having satisfied herself 
on that point, she hastened back, and stooping down to 
the little sea-king, she whispered, “ Come in the boat, 
wull ee, little un? Come wi’ I, an’ let I tak’ ee fer a 
bit ride on the wotter.” 

The child listened, not quite understanding what was 
proposed by his new friend, but as far as so small and 
innocent a sea-king could look ready for lawless adven- 
ture, he certainly looked it at that moment, with his 
little face crimson and smeared with sand, and his 
clothes wet and bedraggled. 

“ Wull ee come in the boat for a bit ev a ride?’’ Betsy 
repeated, anxious to get the child’s consent, lest he 
should cry and waken Lydia. 

“Yes, I come,” he responded, not without an inquir- 
ing look into the face of his temptress, which was not 
quite confidence-inspiring, even to his inexperienced 
eyes. 

Betsy then lost no time in lifting him into the boat 
and shoving off, and in a very few minutes they were 
clear of the Cove. Betsy could not have told why, even 
if she had been accustomed to analyze her own emotions, 
but certain it is that she had never felt so elated in her 
life, and for a time her courage was equal to a voyage 
across the ocean. The little sea-king liked it, too, and 
sat quite still where Betsy had placed him, watching 
with intent eyes the energetic motions of her body as 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


281 


she plied the oars, and the queer contortions of her red 
face, with the tangles of red hair falling about it. 

But suddenly the boat began to rock, and Betsy found 
it less easy to manage the oars ; and she was far from 
pleased at seeing the little white-capped ripples gather- 
ing about them ; in fact, she began to quake with fear. 
It was a new experience of her favorite pastime ; she 
had never ventured beyond the friendly shelter of the 
little harbor before, when she had borrowed the Sea 
Mew, and she began heartily to wish she were safe on 
land and the child safe with Lydia. When she tried 
to turn the boat about to j*ow back, it tipped so fear- 
fully that she ceased her attempts, and wondered wildly 
what would become of them. The little sea-king, too, 
grew terrified, seeing that something was wrong, and 
began to cry. 

Just then a sound came to Betsy’s ears which made 
her tremble so that the oars clattered in the rowlocks — 
the even measured throb of a steamboat’s screw. Her 
first impression was that this unseen monster was close 
upon them, just ready to swallow them up, or crash 
over them and grind them to powder ; and she turned, 
terror-stricken and breathless, to see if it were really 
so. As she turned one of the oars slipped out of her 
hand and out of the rowlock, and before she could 
clutch it, it lay beyond her reach in the water. 

The monster proved not to be so close as she feared ; 
but remembering how, in her vagabond visits to the 
Port in search of diversion, she had seen the small boats 
tossed about by the incoming or outgoing steamers, she 
began frantically to ply the one oar, in her desperate 
anxiety to escape such a fearful experience, with the 
natural result that the boat turned and turned about, 
tipping and rolling, until it dawned upon her bewil- 
dered senses that her efforts were worse than useless. 


SYBIL TRBVYLLIAN. 


282 

But they left her facing the monster, and she saw to 
her horror that it was closer than when she had first 
seen it ; it was so close, indeed, that, to her terror-dazed 
eyes, the tall figures on the deck seemed to loom above 
her, half-way to the sky. One of them shouted to her, 
and the words that reached her understanding were : 
“Sit still!” “Don’t stir!” “The child!” She had hardly 
noticed her poor little companion in danger lately, and 
now she saw that he was lying in the bottom of the 
boat on his face, sobbing faintly ; he was too tired with 
fright and grief to cry aloud any more. Having taken 
this in at a glance, and thankful that she need not 
trouble herself about him, she turned to see what was 
going on behind them, for the boat had drifted round 
again. What she saw caused her to grow rigid, and to 
stare with open eyes and mouth : a boat, with two of 
the giants in it, was moving swiftly toward them. The 
possibility that they might be coming to their rescue 
gave her a momentary spasm of joy ; but the joy quickly 
gave place to other emotions when the boat came near 
enough for her to distinguish faces, and she recognized 
in one of the oarsmen the owner of the Sea Meiv and 
the friend of the young gentleman at whom she had 
thrown her shoe. Her feelings were obliged to have 
some vent — she was sure she should burst if she didn’t 
make a noise, and she opened wide her mouth and ut- 
tered a shriek that caused the poor little sea-king to lift 
his head in fresh terror. But his heart was comforted 
when the strange boat came alongside them, and he saw 
the face of a friend, and heard a kind voice say, “You 
needn’t be frightened any more, my little man; I have 
come to look after you ; you know who I am, don’t you?” 

“Yes, oo’s Lolly,” was the glad response. 

“Good little boy, to remember his friends so well,” 
said Lorrie, who had found Mr. Penfill in the train 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 281 ^ 

from London, and had come with him in his steam- 
yacht, instead of by the packet. 

His sensations can be better imagined than described, 
when in the boat that appeared tossing in the rough- 
ening sea, he discovered, with a glass, the Sea Mew — 
Clive’s “specimen” handling the oars, and little Jack 
sitting disconsolate in the stern. The lowering of the 
yacht’s boat and starting to the rescue was a matter of 
minutes. 

“ Here — take this, ” Lorrie said to Betsy, who sat in 
speechless fright, holding desperately by both hands to 
the sides of the boat, as if she expected to be seized -and 
thrown to the fishes. “Do you hear? take hold of it,” 
he cried, thrusting the recovered oar into her trembling 
grasp. 

“Is oo coming wiv us?” asked the child, as Lorrie’s 
fellow-oarsman held the boats steady, while Lorrie 
stepped lightly into the Sea Mew. 

“Yes, I am coming with you, little one; come over 
here by me and Lorrie lifted the child from the bot- 
tom of the boat, where he was sitting, like the hardly 
beset little sea-king that he was. “ And you,” to Betsy, 
“take yourself back there, and be thankful that you 
don’t get your deserts, as you surely will if you ever 
play any more tricks with my boat.” 

“ I dedn’ knaw ’twere yourn,” was the trembling and 
untruthful reply. 

“You knew it wasn’t yours, at least. Now, my dear 
little man” — Lorrie arranged the cushions and placed 
the child upon them with gentle care — “ is that com’f ’y ?” 

“Yes, velly, thank oo.” 

“Then we are ready,” Lorrie said; and having 
thanked the mate of the Dragofifly and waved his hat 
to his friends on the deck, who had watched operations 
with great interest, he took the oars, and his long, 
steady strokes soon brought the Sea Mew to land. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


Dead? and no warning shiver ran 
Across my heart? 

— Matthew Arnold. 

T he scene that presented itself when Lorrie stepped 
out of the boat with the little sea-king in his 
arms, answered in some degree the question that had 
been puzzling him, as to how it could possibly have 
happened that the child had fallen into the clutches of 
“that lawless young person.” 

Poor Don, having barked himself hoarse over the ab- 
duction of his little friend, and run to and fro along the 
sands until he was tired, had sat for some time anx- 
iously watching for the return of the boat; and now 
leaped joyfully about Lorrie, giving further vent to his 
relief of mind with what voice he had left. Tommy, 
who had come down to the water’s edge, probably under 
the conviction that strange things were going on in the 
absence of his mistress, expressed his satisfaction at 
the sight of Lorrie and the little sea-king, in a loud 
bray. But Lydia and the small dogs were still fast 
asleep; and not until Lorrie stood beside them and 
spoke to her sharply, did Lydia open her eyes. 

“What does this mean?” Lorrie demanded, as she 
sprang to her feet, fully awake and thoroughly fright- 
ened, while the small dogs evinced their usual noisy 
activity. 

“ I — I am afraid I went to sleep, sir, ” faltered Lydia. 
“ I am afraid you did ! Where is your mistress?” 

284 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


285 


“She went to see after Sampy Spin, sir — he was 
badly burnt.” 

“ And left you to take care of the child, and this is 
the way you have done it — going to sleep and letting 
that wretched girl take him out in the boat ! Do you 
know that if I hadn’t happened to come along as I did 
he would have been drowned, and all through your 
abominable carelessness?” 

“ I never meant to go to sleep, I’m sure, sir,” sobbed 
Lydia, “ and I had no idea that Betsy Spin was any- 
where round.” She looked about for that “lawless 
young person,” but Betsy had lost no time in escaping 
from the boat and disappearing from the scene alto- 
gether. “ Shall I carry him, sir, or will you put him 
on Tommy?” Lydia asked dismally. 

“Neither; I’ll carry him myself,” Lorrie replied, 
holding the little one close, thinking gravely of this 
second narrow escape, and what it would have been to 
Nixie if she had lost him now. 

As they reached the corner of the cliff Sybil came 
into view, hurrying toward them on her way to the 
Cove. She stopped short in utter amazement when 
she saw Lorrie. 

“ Lorrie !” she cried, hastening on again with flying 
feet. “ Why — however did you come? I went to the 
landing to meet you and — what has happened?” she 
asked in a different tone, as she came up with Lorrie 
and saw the dilapidated condition of the little sea-king, 
and that Lydia was leading Tommy and crying. 

“Nothing very serious as it turned out,” Lorrie re- 
plied cheerfully, stooping to kiss the troubled face. 
“Tell her what you have been doing, little one,” he 
said to the child, who looked very subdued. 

“ I did go in the boat, ” was the reply. 

“Did you?” said Sybil, relieved and smiling up at 


286 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


the besmeared little face and at the very dirty little 
hands. “ They let you get very messy, 1 think and 
she added aside to Lorrie, “You took him for a little 
row to get him used to the sea ; it was a happy thought.” 
She supposed that Lorrie had got home after they left — 
she did not stop to wonder or ask how — and had come 
to the Cove to look for them. “ Did you like going in 
the boat, my pet?” 

“Who took you in the boat?” asked Lorrie. 

“I not know s’e’s name; s’e not a nice dirl — I was 
velly Lightened.” 

“What does he mean, Lorrie?” asked Sybil, more 
than ever puzzled. “ Surely, Lydia, you didn’t ” 

“ Lydia only went to sleep and left the coast clear for 
that red-headed imp that threw her shoe at Clive, and 
she borrowed the Sea Mew and took this poor little man 
out for a row.” 

“O Lydia, how could you!” cried Sybil reproach- 
fully, though she could not help feeling sorry for the 
girl, in spite of her vexation, she looked so miserable. 
“ Then you came to look for us, Lorrie — had they got 
back by that time ? — poor little darling, ” she murmured, 
clasping one of the grimy little hands. 

“ No — you see I came down in the Dragonfly with 
Mr, Penfill, whom I fell in with on the train from Lon- 
don, and, fortunately, was just in the nick of time to 
save — to bring the little man safely to land.” It had 
been on his lips to say, “ to save Nixie’s child from being 
drowned,” but he stopped himself in time; he would 
have been sorry to break the truth to Sybil so abruptly. 

“ Do you mean that you saw them from the yacht?” 
asked Sybil in a trembling voice as they started on 
toward home. 

“Yes; and as soon as I took in the situation, that 
the boat was the Sea Mew, and the oarsman was that 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


287 


young demon, and the one passenger was this poor little 
sea-king, Mr. Penfill had the Dragonfly's boat lowered, 
and I hastened to the rescue. There never was any- 
thing so lucky as my meeting Mr. Penfill as I did and 
coming with him, instead of by the steamer.” 

“It was a blessed providence,” said Sybil fervently. 

Lorrie did not reply; he was wondering how Sybil 
would bear hearing all his tidings. 

He waited until dinner was over, and the child was 
sleeping as peacefully as if there were no such things 
as tears and dangers, before he would speak of his visit 
to London. Sybil had asked if he had learned anything 
about the poor father, and he had answered, “ I will tell 
you everything by and by, ” and she had been contented 
to wait. Their talk over dessert had been of Lynette 
and Clive, and Lorrie ’s letter to Colonel Graham, and 
of the probabilities of a favorable reply to it. Sybil 
was full of happy confidence that all would be as they 
wished ; Lorrie alternated between hope and fear. 

Now the moment had come when his story must be 
told. Sybil seated herself beside him, and put her 
hand in his. 

“ Why, Lorrie !” she exclaimed, much startled. 
“Your hand is like ice! and you are shivering! Do 
you feel ill?” 

“Not at all — it is only that I have so much to tell 
you ; so much that is sad and strange, and keeping it 
pent up so long — some of it since before I went to Lon- 
don — has made my heart hot and my hands cold, I 
suppose. Do you feel strong enough,” he asked, after 
a pause that Sybil was too breathless to break, “ to hear 
all I have to tell you? It will be very trying.” 

“Only tell me — let me hear,” Sybil replied, feeling 
that anything was better than this kindly meant prepa- 
ration for evil tidings. 


288 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Lorrie had not considered in what order he should 
relate his facts, and now, on the impulse of the moment, 
he took from his pocket the blue velvet case that Nor- 
man Hargreave had lent him. 

‘‘What is it?” Sybil asked; and she smiled, though 
she was trembling with great fear. likeness of 

Lynette?” she questioned, holding out her hands for it. 

“No — not of Lynette,” Lorrie replied, his hands clos- 
ing over the case. “ It is — a likeness of Nixie’s little 
son.” The words seemed to come involuntarily. 

“ Of — what did you say, Lorrie?” asked Sybil, with 
an expression in her eyes that Lorrie could not but 
understand. 

“I said of Nixie’s — Lady Netherby’s — child,” he re- 
plied, flushing in spite of himself, under Sybil’s earnest 
scrutiny. “ Let me tell you something before I show 
it to you,” he said, subduing a feeling of resentment at 
Sybil’s suspicion, as he realized how natural it was 
under the circumstances. “Nixie’s child was sent 
home from Java, because he was pining and Lord 
Netherby was very ill, with — a friend.” Lorrie could 
not bring himself to speak the friend’s name yet; “one 
thing at a time,” he thought — “with a friend whom 
they could trust, and this is a picture of the child, 
painted by his father, not very long ago. Do you 
understand?” 

“Yes, I quite understand,” Sybil replied, taking the 
miniature from Lorrie with a tremulous hand. “ Lor- 
rie !” she cried, after one brief glance, her face paling, 
and her heart beating fast, “it is — it is — is it — the 
little sea-king?” 

“Yes, it is the little sea-king, and Nixie’s child 
whom we have cared for for her without knowing it ; 
and we are to take him to her to-morrow,” Lorrie 
answered. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


289 


“ To-morrow !” exclaimed Sybil, looking up from the 
picture that she was gazing at through tears. Is 
Nixie in England?” 

“Yes, she is at home — in Portman Square,” Lorrie 
replied less eagerly. “ She arrived from Brindisi on 
Wednesday.” 

“Is not Lord Netherby with her?” asked Sybil pain- 
fully. “Don’t tell me that her husband is — not with 
her.” 

“ He is not with her; he died in Java, soon after the 
child left them,” Lorrie answered in husky tones. 

For some minutes there was silence, while Sybil wept 
over the desolation of her friend. She recalled the day 
at Domo d’ Ossola — seeming to hear again the sweet 
young voice whose every note had given her an im- 
pression of such complete happiness; and the sunny 
face was as vividly before her, as she had pictured it 
then, as if she had seen it an hour ago. And now, 
after three short years of gladness, she had come home 
alone — with “ emptied hands and treasure lost. ” “ How 

can she live on?” she sighed at length — “poor, poor 
Nixie!” 

“ But think what it would have been if she had lost 
her child too,” Lorrie said; “what a happy thing that 
she has him left to live for.” 

“Yes — you could tell her that he was safe! How 
strange, how wonderful, that he should have come to 
us — her old friends ! how amazed she must have been 
when you told her where he was !” 

“I didn’t tell her,” Lorrie answered, “because, for 
one thing, when I saw her I couldn’t be perfectly sure 
— I hadn’t seen the likeness yet; and, besides, I was 
afraid of any sudden emotion for her.” 

“She is ill then, poor darling! and who can wonder?” 
Sybil said sadly. 

19 


290 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


She has been very ill ; she nearly died after her 
husband’s death, and she is still very weak; but when 
she has her child again she will get well, the doctor 
says ; and we may hope she will be happy again, some 
day.” 

“ But how was it that the child only reached Eng- 
land a few days before Nixie did, when he left them 
while Lord Netherby was still living? Even supposing 
that Lord Netherby died almost immediately after — it 
seems very strange.” 

“ The friend” — still Lorrie evaded the name — “ who 
brought him, missed the regular steamer, and thought 
it better to take a slow one that was just sailing from 
Batavia, than to wait for another fast one. And the 
London agents think there must have been some deten- 
tion on the way before she reached her doom.” 

“ Lorrie” — Sybil began after a pause, but she waited 
so long that Lorrie turned to her. She was sitting with 
her hands tightly clasped, her face turned from him, 
but he saw that there was not a particle of color in 
cheek or lips. 

“Yes, dear?” he questioned gently. 

“The friend? — it must have been — the friend 

who ” her voice was faint and she stopped as if her 

strength had failed. 

“It was the friend, dear, who saved the child — in 
whose arms he came ashore,” Lorrie said, feeling it 
impossible, now, to utter the name that he was sure 
was in her thought, ..as it was in his own. 

At length, after a silence that seemed endless to 
Lorrie, and yet that he hardly knew how to break, she 
asked, in the same faint, hollow voice, “Was it — a 
very dear friend of — Nixie’s ? — ivas it?” 

As she said the last words she turned suddenly and 
sharply to him. He started at sight of her face, so 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


291 


deathly white and so drawn, and at the look of anguish 
in her eyes. She withdrew them quickly as they met 
his, and he saw that she shrank from his gaze. 

“Nixie doesn’t know yet who saved her little boy,” 
he said aloud, while he was saying to himself, “ She 
suspects the truth ! this is terrible — worse than I feared, 
for she loved him ! ” “ They were to tell her about tlie 

child’s being safe, after I left,” he went on, to give her 
time to recover herself; “but I don’t think they would 
tell her any particulars yet. She expected to find them, 
you see, when she got home, and it was a terrible shock, 
and has been a terrible anxiety — knowing nothing of 
their fate.” His heart was sick at her grief, and with 
the sense of his powerlessness to help her. 

Presently, moved by his deep sympathy in her suffer- 
ing, he took her hands in his. “ My poor child !” he 
said gently. To his dismay she quickly withdrew her 
hands and covered her face with them, gasping and 
trembling. 

“Sybil, Sybil!” he cried, “this is terrible. I didn’t 
know — I never imagined ” 

“Don’t, Lorrie! you must not. Let me go!” she 
cried, in a voice whose anguish wrung his soul. She 
rose with difficulty and would have left him, hut stag- 
gered and fell, rather than threw herself, upon the sofa 
again, burying her face in the cushions, trying to stifle 
the sobs that shook her from head to foot. Lorrie stood 
by in helpless misery, not knowing what to do or say. 
At length he laid his hand gently on her head, but she 
shuddered as if his touch hurt her ; and he moved away 
that she might not think his eyes were upon her, won- 
dering sadly if she had only now, through the revealing 
power of this sudden blow, come to a knowledge of her 
own heart ; or had the secret been a sad, conscious pos- 
session all these years? “ In either case the knowledge 


292 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


came too late, ” he said to himself, “ since he who would 
have given ‘half a life-time ’ to know the truth, lies in 
that nameless grave — alas ! alas !” There was no meas- 
ure, he felt, for such grief as that. At that moment 
he could have given half his own happiness, if that 
would have healed Sybil’s wound. 

At length she raised her head, outwardly calm ; but 
Lorrie thought he should never forget the tearless woe 
in the beautiful eyes, nor yet the attempt at a smile 
with which she met his distressful gaze. 

“Sit down, dear,” she said; and Lorrie sat down 
beside her, as she motioned him to do. “ It has all been 
so dreadful from the beginning — from the storm, I 
mean ; so many sad things together. It is so hard for 
poor Nixie — and for them all.” Her voice was faint, 
and she spoke with a great effort. 

“Yes, desperately hard for poor Nixie — but for you, 
dear? was I wrong in not telling you before?” Lorrie 
asked this hesitatingly, but with the feeling that if Sybil 
would but speak of her sorrow it must be a relief. She 
made no answer, and he added gently, “ it is a comfort 
to you, isn’t it, dear, that you went to the church and 
took the flowers — as if 3^ou had known?” 

“ Lorrie — hush !” she cried out in accents of the sharp- 
est pain, pushing her hair back from her forehead, as if 
its weight oppressed her. “Oh, there is Caroline,” she 
said in a faintly shrill voice of relief, starting to her 
feet as Caroline came with the candles. “We haven’t 
told her about to-morrow, and there is everything to do 
— 3^011 have to start so early.” 

“You will come with us — with me and the little sea- 
king, won’t you?” he asked anxiously, as Sybil turned 
to him to say good-night. 

“No! I cannot — I will not^ she cried, with a vehe- 
mence that shocked him. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. m 

“But, dear child,” he remonstrated gently, “I am 
certain it will be better for you than staying here by 
yourself ; and think of the poor little sea-king, making 
the journey without you; and poor Nixie will be so 
disappointed. ” 

“Oh, well — yes, I will go,” Sybil answered wearily, 
as if it were easier to yield than to resist ; and she went 
away with slow, uncertain steps, leaving Lorrie so 
heavj^-hearted that even the thought of Lynette had 
but little power to cheer him. 

His amazement and relief would have equalled his 
pity, if he had known the truth — that it was not Dr. 
Thornton, but Norman Hargreave whom Sybil be- 
lieved to be l5dng in the little churchyard. 

And one word — the mention of either name, would 
have spared so much of that anguish ! and it was by 
the merest chance that Lorrie had not spoken of seeing 
Norman in London — and Sybil evaded every reference, 
even to Nixie and her sorrow, the next day during their 
journey. 


CHAPTER XXXYIII. 


And then she sighed the deep, long sigh 
Which cometh after fear. 

— Mrs. Browning. 

I T was early Sunday morning when they reached 
London — so early that Lorrie, with his head out 
of the window looking for a porter while Caroline col- 
lected the bags and rugs and Sybil dressed the sleepy 
little sea-king, was amazed at seeing Norman Har- 
greave’s tall figure moving along the platform, inspect- 
ing the carriages as he passed. He waved his cap to 
attract Norman’s attention, then turned to say, “Here’s 
Hargreave, Sybil, come to look for little Jack,” and 
jumped out to shake hands and express his surprise 
and pleasure at his turning up at that “ unearthly hour.” 
Presently he looked into the carriage to see why Sybil 
did not come to greet Norman, and produce the little 
sea-king. 

“What is it, Caroline?” he cried, springing in. 

“She is faint, sir,” Caroline replied. She was sup- 
porting Sybil in her arms, the child standing by look- 
ing very distressed. “Could you get the sal-volatile 
out of my bag, sir? It’s quite ready, with the water in 
it, and not too strong, and the little tumbler is there.” 

“It is nothing,” Sybil said, meeting Lorrie’s anxious 
eyes with a faint smile that was meant to be reassuring. 

“You must take this and keep quite still for a few 
minutes. I can’t think what has upset you so — the 
heat and the long journey, I suppose.” Lorrie said 

294 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


295 


this while thinking of something very different as the 
cause, but equally far from the truth. 

“Do take little Jack to — his uncle, dear,” Sybil said 
hastily. 

“ I’ll do anything you like, if you’ll only get a little 
color in your cheeks and lips, ” Lorrie answered, watch- 
ing her anxiously. 

“Then do, dear, leave me to Caroline,” she said, al- 
most impatiently, “and take little Jack. Go, my pet; 
I will come in a minute.” 

“I stay wiv oo,” said the child, climbing up beside 
her. 

“No, come along with me, little man,” Lorrie cried, 
taking him in his arms, as he saw how eager Sybil was 
for them to go. “ Luckily the train won’t move on, so 
you can take your time. Don’t let her hurry herself, 
Caroline,” he said as he got out with the little sea-king 
in his arms. 

Norman stood just outside. “ I hope your sister is 
not ill,” he said, as Lorrie appeared with the child. 

“ The journey has been rather too much for her, I am 
afraid,” Lorrie returned. “She will be all right when 
she has had a few hours’ rest. Little Jack, this is your 
uncle Norman! You must make haste to be friends 
with him — for the sake of your own peace,” he added, 
as Norman took the reluctant little hand in his. 

The child returned Norman’s smile and pleasant 
greeting with a grave, steady gaze of inquiry; and 
when he would have taken him, he drew back and put 
an arm round Lorrie’ s neck. 

“His friendship is not to be forced, I see,” Norman 
said, keeping his gentle hold of the hand. “ I hope the 
telegram my father received last night did not convey 
your final decision about coming to us, for little Jack’s 
sake, as well as our own,” he said, with a smile, seeing 


296 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


how suspiciously the child regarded him. Cannot I 
persuade you to reconsider?” 

“I am afraid not,” Lorrie replied, remembering how 
decided Sybil had been in her wish to go to St. Austells 
— how firm she had been in her refusal to let him ac- 
cept Mr. Hargreave’s invitation. “ Oh, there you are!” 
he exclaimed, as Sybil appeared at the door of the car- 
riage, very pale, but smiling. “ Are you quite fit again, 
dear?” he asked, helping her down. 

“Quite, thanks.” 

“ An all-night railway journey is a serious matter, 
isn’t it?” Norman said, as they shook hands. 

“ It is, indeed !” Sybil answered. 

“ Even little Jack, I fancy, looks rather the worse for 
it, and he, no doubt, slept more than the rest of you.” 

“He doesn’t look quite himself,” Sybil returned, 
clasping the little hand that had been released from 
Norman’s and thrust into hers. 

“ Can’t I induce you to come home with us? at least 
to have breakfast before going to St. Austells,” he 
added, as Sybil shook her head. “We were much dis- 
appointed at the contents of Lorrie ’s telegram, and my 
father charged me to use every argument to induce you 
to change your minds. ” 

“ It is most kind of Mr. Hargreave,” Sybil answered, 
“ but I am sure it will be better for us to come and see 
Nixie after the excitement of the first meeting with her 
little son is over.” 

“ It will be very hard on him, parting with his friends 
here,” Norman said, with a deprecating glance at the 
child, who was holding Sybil’s hand tightly in both of 
his. “Wouldn’t it be kinder for you to take him to 
his mother, instead of leaving it for me to do? You 
know I am a stranger to him now, though I hope we 
shall be the best of friends before long. ” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


207 


“You will make friends with him as soon as you 
have him to yourself,*’ Sybil said, with a look in her 
eyes that made Norman feel he must not urge her any 
more. “ He has not had us very long, you know, and 
when he understands that he belongs to you — he must 
so often have heard of you — and, above all, when he is 
in Nixie’s arms, he will be happy.” 

“ Do you think he will know her?” asked Norman. 

“ Perhaps not, at the very first, and yet I shouldn’t 
wonder if he did ; he is a loyal little soul, and it isn’t 
so very long since they parted.” 

“ The shock of such an experience to a little child 
would be sure to affect his memory of things ; it would 
come back gradually, no doubt,” Norman said. 

“ Yes, we have seen how gradual it has been so far. 
Take him, Lorrie,” Sybil said hurriedl}", longing to 
have the parting over, and Lorrie lifted him, fearing 
an outburst of grief ; but though the baby heart was " 
heavy with forebodings, and Sybil was obliged to dis- 
engage her hands from his grasp, he did not cry nor 
protest; his feelings seemed too deep for words or 
tears. 

“ May I come to St. Austells this afternoon and tell 
you how we get on?” Norman asked, as they shook 
hands at parting. 

“ Oh, yes, we shall be so anxious to hear !” Sybil an- 
swered, and Lorrie added, “ Come and have a cup of 
tea with us, Hargreave; we shall be awake by tea- 
time.” 

“Thanks, I will, with pleasure,” Norman replied. 
“The brougham is just on ahead,” he said to Lorrie, 
as he turned away. 

Then Sybil tearfully kissed the woful little face again 
and again. “You are going to see mamma,” she said, 
as brightly as she could; “dear mamma, whom you 


298 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


haven’t seen for so long. You will be glad, won’t you, 
my pet?” 

And papa and Dotta !” cried the child, naming his 
father voluntarily for the first time with sudden eager- 
ness. But his face quickly grew troubled again. “ Oo 
must come wiv me,” and he reached out his hands to 
Sybil. 

Lorrie hurried him away then, Caroline going with 
them to put his bag in the brougham, and to say her 
own good-bys; and Lorrie and she both hoped that 
Sybil did not hear the cry that broke from the torn little 
heart, when he realized that she was left behind. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


Thy voice alone is there, 

O bitterly beloved ! and all her gain 
Is but the pang of unpermitted prayer. 

— Rossetti. 

I T was an attractive scene on which Norman Har- 
greave looked, as he stood for a moment in the 
door leading from the library out upon the lawn, after 
telling Kifton that he would find his way. Lorrie had 
proposed their having tea in the garden, the day was 
so warm and bright, and the tea-table was set under 
the old cedar, at the foot of the lawn. The glowing 
flower borders beyond made a gay contrast to the som- 
bre green of the wide-spreading branches, through 
which flecks of sunshine found their way to rest on 
Sybil’s pale gray dress and bright hair. She leaned 
idly back in her garden chair, listening to Lorrie, who 
was stretched on the grass at her feet, his head resting 
in his clasped hands, talking to her. 

He sprang up when he saw Norman, who was, in 
truth, in no haste to have the scene disturbed by so 
much as the welcome he was hoping for ; but now he 
hastened to meet Lorrie. 

“ It was too deliciously summery to stay in-doors, ” 
Lorrie said. 

“Indeed it was,” responded Norman. “I hope,” he 
said, as they joined Sybil, and he held her hand for a 
moment, while his eyes gently inspected her face, “ that 

299 


300 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


you have had ‘the few hours’ rest’ and are ‘all right’ 
again, as Lorrie said you would be.” 

“I am afraid she doesn’t do full justice to my pre- 
scription, for she did not take the dose of rest. How- 
ever, she doesn’t look quite so ghastly as she did at 
seven o’clock this morning, does she?” 

“ What a dreadful word to apply to a person,” cried 
Sybil, seating herself; “ghostly is bad enough, but 
‘ghastly’ is shameful.” The color came into her cheeks 
under the gaze of two pairs of eyes. 

“Who would imagine that there was anything so 
delightfully country-like so close to London,” Norman 
remarked by way of changing the subject, which he 
felt was tedious to Sybil. “We really might be a hun- 
dred miles from town.” 

“So we might,” responded Lorrie. “This isn’t the 
first time you have had tea with us on a Sunday, under 
this old cedar, is it?” he added, without a trace of the 
constraint he had expected to feel in the renewal of the 
old friendly intercourse, so long interrupted ; in fact he 
was hardly conscious of its absence. 

“No, indeed, not by many,” Norman responded. 
“ How are you, Caroline?” he asked, as Caroline came 
with the tea. 

“ I am very well, sir, thank you, ” and she went away 
rejoicing in the new state of things, for Norman had 
been one of her primest favorites in the old days, and 
she had never included him nor Mr. Hargreave under 
the ban she had put upon Lady Sara and poor Nixie. 

“ I am convinced Caroline claimed the privilege of 
bringing the tea and sally-lunn for the sake of a word 
from you,” Lorrie declared to Norman, when she had 
disappeared. 

“ It was very nice of her if she did,” Norman returned. 
“ I am sure,” he added, turning to Sybil, “that you are 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


aoi 

wishing for news of your little sea-king.” He had 
more than once caught a look in her eyes that he thought 
asked for his tidings. 

“Yes, do tell us how you got on with him, and about 
the meeting between him and his mother,” said Lorrie. 
“ Did the little fellow get reconciled to you? He seemed 
very disconsolate when I left him.” 

“ It was pretty desperate at first,” answered Norman. 
“ He soon stopped crying, but he remained quiet and 
reserved. It seems a curious thing to say of a child of 
two and a half or so — but reserved is the only word 
that expresses his attitude during our drive home. I 
was a stranger, though I was his uncle, and his affec- 
tions were not to be won off-hand. He was obliged to 
regard me as an older acquaintance than my father 
when they met ; but he felt himself in a strange place 
and among strangers, until he saw Nixie.” 

“Did he know her at once?” asked Sybil. 

“Not quite at once, but very soon. She had on a 
white dress. I persuaded her to wear it for the meet- 
ing, as I was certain he would be less likely to know 
her in black. The excitement, too, gave her a slight 
color, and she looked more like herseff. I was half 
afraid that if she clasped him suddenly, before he found 
out who it was, he might resist, for the moment, as he 
did with me ; but she understood his little ways, and 
sat quietly, trembling and breathless as she was, hold- 
ing out her arms to him, and calling him by the old 
pet names. He stood with his hands behind him for 
a moment, looking at her with serious, wondering eyes ; 
then suddenly his face flushed, and he gave a little glad 
cry and ran into her arms.” 

“How did Nixie bear it?” Lorrie asked. 

“Better, on the whole, than we feared,” Norman re- 
plied. “ He was much distressed at seeing her tears, and 


303 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


said ‘papa must come and kiss them away.’ As you 
can imagine, she was utterly overcome at that, poor 
child. But she has brightened up very much since; 
she has even laughed at some of the little fellow’s droll 
sayings; and it is w^onderful how gentle and devoted 
his manner to her is. Baby as he is, he seems to un- 
derstand that she is weak and sorrowful. And, strange 
to say, he has not once referred to his father or Dotta 
since that first moment.” 

“ He is unlike any other child I ever saw,” said Lorrie. 

“ He has talked a great deal about you both,” Norman 
said to Sybil, “ but I am sorry to say that he is very 
audacious for so small a person ; he speaks of you as 
‘Sybil’ and ‘Lollie.’” 

“ It was rather difficult to fix upon anything for him 
to call us, and when he settled it for himself, we were 
quite satisfied,” Sybil returned, with a smile that was 
almost tearful, as she seemed to hear the ringing little 
voice, and see the winsome little face. 

“Nixie is impatient to see you,” Norman said, “for 
every reason, but especially she wants to thank you for 
your care of her little son ” 

“ Oh, she must not thank us !” cried Sybil. “ Why 
should she thank us?” 

“Hoes she know yet how he was saved from the 
wreck?” asked Lorrie, instantly remorseful for his 
thoughtlessness, seeing Sybil start and turn pale. 

“She knows to whose devotion she owes his life,” 
Norman replied, after a momentary hesitation, he, too, 
having seen the start and the sudden pallor ; “ but she 
has been too much absorbed in having him again to 
ask many questions. Later on she will be anxious to 
know all the details.” 

“Have you been to St. Hilda’s lately?” Lorrie asked, 
by way of changing the subject. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


803 


“ No, not for a long time — not since we were all there 
together, I believe, so manj^ years ago !” 

“ What a lucky thing it is that there is such a long 
railway journey, and then such a rough sail after that, 
to get there !” said Lorrie ; “ it has saved the islands 
from invasions that it makes one shudder to think of. 
Imagine their being turned into a holiday resort — a 
Margate or a Scarborough !” 

“It would, indeed, be a melancholy transformation,” 
returned Norman. “You saw something of the young 
Grahams while they were at St. Hilda’s, didn’t you? 
I think you spoke of them the other day,’ Trevy Ilian.” 

“Oh, yes, we did,” replied Lorrie, reddening in spite 
of himself, as the thought of what Clive had confided 
to Sybil flashed across him for he first time since his 
meeting with Norman. He had for the moment a 
guilty feeling, as if he had really done what he vowed 
to do that day — stolen Lynette from him. But with a 
glad thrill he remembered that Lynette ’s heart had 
been absolutely free when she came to St. Clements, 
and she had freely given it to him. Whether Norman 
were heart-whole or not was another matter, for which 
he was not answerable. 

“They stayed with us for two or three days,” Sybil 
said, anxious to help Lorrie to tide over his momentary 
embarrassment. “ They came to lunch with us, and 
the storm came on — it was the day of the storm — and 
we kept them, of course, until the sea was quiet again.” 

“They are nice young things,” Norman remarked: 
“they have the piquancy that comes of their having 
been brought up in India, where the conventions are 
les§ rigid than in England, besides being thoroughly 
simple-hearted and unaffected.” 

Lorrie did not altogether approve Norman’s manner 
of speaking of his sweet divinity, but he concluded to 


304 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


forgive it, inasmuch as she was his cousin, and so much 
younger than he that he might naturally regard her as 
a child. In fact, he thought no one could possibly know 
the adorably womanly side of Lynette’s complex na- 
ture as he did, which was true beyond a doubt. 

“You might be interested to hear how the acquain- 
tance began,” Lorrie said, ready now to enjoy the little 
excitement of pursuing the subject Korman had intro- 
duced. 

“I should indeed,” Norman replied. 

“Well, Sybil and Caroline were out for a cruise, and 
in the course of their wanderings they discovered Miss 
Graham and her brother, stranded on the top of the 
Treloar rocks, their boat having got loose and drifted 
away ; and, more serious still. Miss Graham was terri- 
bly frightened, and Clive was in great straits as to how 
to get her down. He made signals of distress, and 
Sybil went gallantly to the rescue.” 

“ Climbed Treloar — as of old?” questioned Norman, 
turning to Sybil with a smile. 

Sybil smiled and assented. 

“Yes; and together she and Clive succeeded in get- 
ting her safely down, and then Sybil landed them at 
St. Hilda’s.” 

“ Lucky young feather-heads,” laughed Norman. “ I 
have no doubt they were disobeying orders in venturing 
into such places — from what I know of Mrs. Penfill.” 

“ I am afraid they were,” Sybil said, with an amused 
recollection of Clive’s remorse. 

“ Then they came to lunch with you, and the storm 
came on and kept them happy prisoners?” said Norman. 

“ I think I must tell Hargreave of the poor little sea- 
king’s latest adventure,” Lorrie sad, and he proceeded 
to give a graphic account of it. 

“ Poor little man !” said Norman, when the story was 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


305 


ended; “let us hope that the dangers he has already 
encountered may suffice on the law of average.” 

There was a moment’s silence, and then Norman 
asked if they were going back to St. Clements, and if 
they should be there much longer. 

“I don’t imagine that we shall,” Lorrie answered. 
“Our plans are rather uncertain at present,” he added, 
with a bright glance at Sybil. “ Are you likely to go 
abroad this summer?” 

“No — I think not. I shall go to Eden Wyck for a 
little time with Nixie, and after that — I hardlj^ know,” 
Norman replied, as he rose to take leave. “ My father 
would have come to see you to-day, but he didn’t like 
leaving Nixie, even though she has little Jack; and as I 
had had permission to come, I would not forego my rights 
in his favor. So he bade me say that he would forgive 
your refusing his invitation to come and stay with us, 
if you would both come to-morrow to lunch and stop 
with us the rest of the day — tea and dinner included.” 

“He is very good,” Sybil returned; “do thank him 
very, very much for us, and say that we will come to 
dinner with the greatest pleasure; but as I, at least, 
intend going back to St. Clements on Tuesday” — Lorrie 
listened amazed, but Sybil’s eyes forbade his making 
any comment — “ we shall really only be able to come to 
dinner. I must devote the day to house-keeperly shop- 
pings. It will be such a pleasure to see Mr. Hargreave 
again, and Nixie, and the dear little sea-king.” 

“ I am very sure you will not be forgiven on any such 
terms,” Norman said, “but I shall tell my father that 
small favors must be thankfully received.” 

20 


CHAPTER XL. 


And in your life let my remembrance linger, 
As something not to trouble and disturb it. 


— Longfellow. 


^ ^ YBIL !” cried Lorrie, when he came back from 



o letting Xorman out, resting his hands on the 
arms of her chair, and looking down into her face with 
dancing eyes, “haven’t you forgiven Lady Sara yet? 
because if you have not, you show a less Christian spirit 
than my humble self, for I have forgiven her utterly 
and — thankfully !” 

Sybil was busily arranging and rearranging the roses 
in her dress, and answered lightly: “ It isn’t a question 
of forgiveness — it’s a mere matter of inclination. If 
you post off to Scotland — yes, it might well happen — 
surely I may go to St. Clements; and how could I 
manage that if I went visiting the whole of to-morrow? 
Caroline and I must do some shopping for the house 
before we go back.” 

“But if I don’t post off to Scotland? if no letter 
comes? then what?” 

“Then I must go all the same,” Sybil said, taking 
his hands and drawing him down until he knelt before 
her. “ I am sure, ” she added pleadingly, “ that you can 
let me go, even if you have to wait here for the letter a 
few days by yourself. I do so long to get back ! and it 
would be foolish for you to take that long journey.” 

“For the fourth time within a week,” suggested 
Lorrie. 


30G 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


307 


“ Yes, with the chance of taking it for the fifth time 
immediately after.” 

“ When do you think you will be ready to leave St. 
Clements for good?” asked Lorrie hesitatingly, think- 
ing of the lonely grave, and wondering how much it 
had to do with her longing to get back. 

“ I shall make a point of being here to receive you in 
October,” she answered, with something between a 
smile and a sigh. 

“October?” cried Lorrie. “ Do you really imagine I 
shall stay away from you all that time? Well, I shall 
not. You would have an invitation ” 

“ No, please ! no more invitations ! I am tired of re- 
fusing them.” 

“Would you refuse one to stay with the Grahams?” 
asked Lorrie reproachfully. 

“I should want to, I am sure,” Sybil replied, with a 
sigh of utter weariness, “ though for your sake I might 
accept. Now I am going to be very lazy and go to 
bed,” she said. “It is shockingly early, but I am so 
tired — with that long all-night journey. You won’t 
mind, will you?” 

“ Oh, I shall turn in myself, before long ; and I know 
you need a good night’s rest to prepare you for the ‘toils 
of the morrow.’ You look anything but fit now,” he 
said, as she put her hand through his arm, and they 
crossed the lawn together. 

In the library they said good-night, and Lorrie had 
opened the door for Sybil when she slowly turned to 

him. “Lorrie, I want to ask you ” she began, and 

paused. 

“ What do you want to ask me, dear?” 

“ Tell me — when did you know who saved the little 
sea-king?” 

This was the first time any reference had been made 


308 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


to the subject since the talk of Friday night; but Sybil 
had not needed to he told who the child’s preserver really 
was; from the moment that she heard Norman’s voice 
outside the railway carriage, she knew, without being 
told, that it was Dr. Thornton. 

Lorrie was greatly relieved at her being able to speak 
of it voluntarily, and answered : “ I knew — after Clive 
and I had been to the Trawleys’. Mrs. Trawley gave 
me a locket and a ring that had been found on — little 
Jack’s preserver, and they told me the sad truth.” He 
hesitated for a moment, and then went on, feeling that 
it was better to tell all now and have it over. “ Do 
you remember the little old photographs of you and me, 
taken just before I went to Oxford — the day we were 
out with Aunt Helen and she took us to have them 
taken?” 

“Yes. I remember.” 

“And that — poor Thornton had one of each?” 

“Yes.” 

“ Mrs. Trawley gave them to me carefully wrapped 
up, and when I opened the packet that night — I knew. 
The photographs were in a little silver case, and I saw 
the monogram first of all, then the likenesses and the 
ring; and then I thought about the child’s calling him 
^Dotta ' — it was all too plain.” 

“Yes,” sighed Sybil tearfully. “Do you think we 
might keep the locket?” 

“ Oh, yes. I quite think so. The ring, of course, I 
shall give to his brother.” 

Lorrie took the locket from his pocket, and put it in 
Sybil’s hand. She said good-night, then quickly went 
away. 


CHAPTER XLI. 


Yet still the happy thouglit recurs 
That she is mine as I am hers ; 

That she is there as I am here, 

And loves *me wliether far or near. 

— Clough. 

rpHERE was no letter for Lorrie the next morning, 
JL as he learned from Kifton ’svhen he came to call 
him ; and for a time he gave way to the dreariest fore- 
bodings. But courage came back with the recollection 
of Sybil’s sanguine view of things, and still more, with 
the sweet echoes of Lynette’s own words. How could 
he doubt that all would be well when he knew she 
loved him? and when her heart was as brave as it was 
loving? and he had every reason to believe that her 
father and mother desired only her happiness. So at 
length he got up and dressed with tolerable cheerful- 
ness. 

“ A delicate attention on the part of Kifton,” he said, 
moving the morning paper to make room for his cup of 
tea, as he and Sybil began their breakfast. “ He even 
remembers our political tendencies, and expects us to 
be faithful to them. I think I must ask him if our 
party is in power now.” 

“Don’t make us out more ignorant than we are,” 
remonstrated Sybil. 

“ You are not ignorant at all. I heard you discussing 
Home Rule with Clive in a masterly manner that filled 
me with admiration.” 


309 


310 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAK 


“ Clive is such a red-hot politician that it was very 
amusing talking with him,” laughed Sybil. 

“ A political boy is always amusing — he is more sure 
of his opinions than a man of sixty could possibly be. 
I wish to goodness they were in town,” Lorrie added 
with a sigh. “ What a horrid nuisance— their being 
in Scotland just now !” 

“Indeed it is,” returned Sybil, full of sympathy. 

“The hours seem days, and the days months,” said 
Lorrie dismally. “ By the way, are you really going 
to be busy shopping all the morning?” he asked, hand- 
ing his cup across to her. “No, you are not! I can 
answer for you,” he said, as his eyes rested on her face. 

“Why not, pray?” demanded Sybil. 

“ Because 3^011 are ill, and bed or the sofa is the only 
fit place for you. Your long night’s rest has evidently 
not done 3"ou a particle of good.” 

“ I dare say I do look rather hollow-eyed. I think I 
made some such comment on myself when I was dress- 
ing, but it takes more than one night to make up for a 
sleepless one; and I shall improve as the day goes on.” 

“You must promise me to rest until it is time to 
dress for Portman Square,” urged Lorrie. “You look 
very nearly as ill as Nixie did the other day, only not 
so wasted.” 

“ I am sure I don’t, and I won’t hear another word 
on the subject of my looks — mind — not another word !” 
she cried, with a playful shake of her head, but with 
a hunted look in her eyes. 

“Stay at home, then, and let Caroline nurse you,” 
urged Lorrie. 

“No, I will not!” S^^bil returned gayly; “we have 
most important shopping to do, and a little diversion 
will do me good — seeing the shops and the new 
fashions.” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


311 


“ Much you care for the shops and the new fashions !” 
returned Lorrie. 

“ Well, now — tell me what you are going to do, while I 
am gazing in at the shop windows and buying curtains. ” 

Lorrie’s thoughts quickly reverted to the subject that 
had occupied them when Sybil’s pale face caught his 
notice. “ I am thinking — in fact I had decided to hunt 
up Bob Wilder, and ask him if he has a room where 
I could sit and— kick my heels.” Lorrie’s arms rested 
on the table, and he toyed with his knife while he 
spoke, not looking at Sybil. “I was to have gone in 
with him three years ago, and he might just happen to 
have a spare corner now.” It had flashed across him 
for the first time while he was dressing, causing him 
to suspend operations for some minutes, and then pro- 
ceed in hot haste, that Colonel Graham might make it 
an objection to his marrying Lynette that he was an 
idler — had done nothing toward making his mark at 
twenty-six, and he had resolved to take chambers that 
very da}^, lest the letter should come and And him still 
an idler. 

“I am glad, Lorrie dear!” Sybil said eagerly. “It 
is splendid ! I was longing for you to do it.” 

Lorrie’s face flushed and his eyes kindled, though 
there was a touch of reproach in his voice as he said : 
“ You didn’t tell me so?” 

“No — because I seem always to be preaching and 
bringing people up by hand,” Sybil said with a light 
laugh ; but she leaned her head on her hand wearily 
for an instant. 

“Now I know you are ill,” cried Lorrie; “if you 
were not you would never have said such a foolish 
thing as that !” 

“I am afraid I am getting weak-minded,” she an- 
swered, leaving the table and seating herself by the 


312 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


window, where she could look out into the garden. 
She knew very well that Lorrie was right, and that 
she was mentally and physically unstrung, and on the 
verge of being self-conscious and morbid; she must, 
she felt, keep herself well in hand to get through this 
day and the next. Once at St. Clements — that haven 
of rest, as it seemed to her now, with the sea to talk to 
her and nobody but Caroline to notice whether she 
looked well or ill, she should be able to rally her forces. 

‘"If I am ill,” she said with a look half playful and 
half wistful, “I oughtn’t to go out to dinner — you 
should go by yourself and make my excuses.” 

“ Oh !” cried Lorrie in some dismay, do you really 
mean it? Of course 

“No, I don’t really mean it,” she answered quickly. 
“ If Mr. Wilder is out of town, what shall you do?” 

“I don’t know,” Lorrie replied meditatively. “If 
only Uncle John were at home! everybody that one 
wants is away. I wonder where they are.” 

“Who? Aunt Helen and Uncle John? in the Enga- 
dine somewhere, hut I am sure Uncle John won’t stay 
away long.” 

“No, I dare say not; but good gracious! how I shall 
hate the whole thing!” cried Lorrie, with a look of 
great disgust. “ I shall feel like a second Sisyphus 
when I begin to work — it’s so long since I’ve done any- 
thing but loaf and mope.” 

“ It will all come easy when you think that it is for 
Lynette’s sake,” said Sybil cheeringly. 

Lorrie’s face softened and brightened. 

“Yes! that will sweeten the bitter pill! Anyhow 
there’s nothing else for me to do, and I shan’t seem 
such a hopeless vagabond if I can tell Lynette’s father 
that I am settled in chambers, and making a beginning, 
or trying to.” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


313 


“Beginning is everything,” said Sybil. “Who 
knows? you may be Lord Chancellor some day!” 

“ Much chance there is of any such thing,” returned 
Lorrie bitterly, resting an arm on the back of his chair, 
and his forehead in his hand. “You know — when a 
man is fool enough to throw away any of his good 
years, he can’t get them back, and he has to pay for 
them out of his success and peace of mind. When I 
think of that, I feel as if I had no right to ask for Ly- 
nette ; and I am sure her father will think so when he 
knows.” 

“ O Lorrie, do not be desponding, ” cried Sybil, in a 
voice of entreaty, as she looked into his dreary face. 
“ For my sake, dear, have courage !” Lorrie gazed at 
her wonderingly, it was so like a cry for help ; but she 
went on before he could speak. “You cannot get the 
lost years back, dear, but you can make so much of 
those that are left that you will hardly miss them. If 
Colonel Graham is wise he will trust you all the more, 
when he knows how bitterly you regret the lost years.” 

“You would give courage and heart to a clod,” said 
Lorrie, stooping to kiss her. “ You make me feel again 
as if I might do something, and I’ll make a beginning 
to-day by going to see Wilder. Shall you be at home 
by three?” 

“Oh, yes, I should think so.” 

“And mind you have a rest before you dress. I 
shouldn’t wonder if you had a visit from Mr. Har- 
greave in the course of the day — pity if you were out. 
By the way, what has made you so like a new acquain- 
tance with Norman? I couldn’t help noticing and 
wondering. You used to be such capital friends.” 

“It must have been your imagination,” Sybil replied 
faintly. 

“I don’t think it was,” Lorrie returned, “though it 


314 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


may have been only that you hadn’t met for so long — 
time may have taken the edge off your old chummy 
relations; but I do believe Norman has felt the change, 
his eyes had such a puzzled look now and then, yester- 
day.” 

“I am sure it was only your fancy,” repeated Sybil. 

“ I have been surprised to find how he and I seem to 
have begun again exactly where we left off three years 
ago; shows what good fellows we both are — don’t you 
think so?” he demanded laughingly. 

“Yes, I do,” Sybil replied. 

“What a wonderful smile he has,” Lorrie went on; 
“ his face is so grave — almost too grave — when it is in 
repose, but when he smiles it lights up amazingly ; it’s 
like a sudden flash of sunshine ; and his voice strikes 
me as one of the most agreeable I ever heard. I don’t 
remember to have noticed these things in the old days, 
do you?” 

“ I suppose one doesn’t notice them so much when 
one is young,” Sybil replied wearily; and they both 
laughed as she caught Lorrie ’s amused look. 

“We might well be forty — those old days seem such 
ages behind us,” Lorrie said. “I wonder what my 
little Lynette is doing at this moment !” he added, after 
a pause, coming to stand beside Sybil, and gazing out 
over the sunlit lawn with dreamy eyes. 

“Wishing herself with us at Quesne, I haven’t a 
doubt,” responded Sybil. 

“I believe it,” sighed Lorrie, his eyes as full of ten- 
derness as if they were resting on L3’-nette herself, out 
in the sunlight. “If I don’t hear to-day,” he said 
presently, the tenderness giving place to impatience, 
“ I really think I shall start for Edinburgh in the morn- 
ing.” 

“Oh, no, you will not!” S^^bil said quickl3^ “You 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


315 


wouldn’t know where to look for them,” she added in a 
lighter tone. 

“Oh, well, hunting up Wilder will help to pass the 
time while I wait. What a pity that there are not 
shops where one could have one’s hopes and wishes ful- 
filled ‘while you wait,’ as you can have an umbrella 
mended !” 

In another hour Sybil and Caroline started for town, 
and Lorrie followed on his quest soon after. 


CHAPTER XLII. 


In that clear brain which day and night 
No movement of the heart e’er jostles, 

Her friends are ranged on left and right. 

— Loivell. 

^ ^ T PUT out those two dresses, miss ; I thought you 
wouldn’t care to wear colors to-night, and I 
wasn’t sure whether you would prefer gray or black.” 

“ Thank you, Caroline; the black lace will be coolest, 
so I will wear that. No, I shouldn’t like to wear colors 
to-night. ” 

Sybil had come home at tea-time, and had sat in the 
library for half an hour waiting for Lorrie, wishing 
she need not move again. The very thought of another 
long drive into town, and of .the visit, which must of 
necessity be painful, was wearying to body and mind ; 
and both were already weary enough. She had not 
been diverted by the shops and the fashions ; the streets 
were hot and stifling, and had a baked smell ; the peo- 
ple looked bored or absurdly busy, and she was glad to 
leave it all behind and come back to the country-like 
freshness of St. Aus tells. 

Now it was getting so late that she had come up to 
dress; and having gone languidly through with the 
process, was returning to the library, gloves and fan in 
hand, when Lorrie arrived. “ I waited ever so long 
for you,” she said, “but there’s still some tea.” 

“ I am so sorry you waited. No, I won’t have any 
tea. I’ve had some; and whom do you think I’ve seen? 
Uncle John !” 


316 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


317 


“No! really?” 

“Yes, really!” 

“And Aunt Helen?” 

“No, she’s in Pontresina; but I’ll tell you all about 
everything on our way. I’m fearfully late.” . 

“Yes, you are; so fly up and dress.” 

“No letter? — well — I’m glad of it! I couldn’t possi- 
bly think of anything else, if I had one, just read, in 
my pocket, whatever its contents might be. ” 

“We will hope it may come by the last post, and be 
waiting for us when we get home,” said Sybil. 

“Yes, that’ll do!” cried Lorrie, running upstairs 
with such a light, fleet step that it made Sybil feel less 
weary. It was encouraging, too, that he had seen 
their uncle. 

“ I am happy to say that you are looking more like 
yourself than you did this morning, though there’s still 
room for improvement,” Lorrie said, when he came 
back in evening dress, and regarded Sybil with satis- 
faction. “ Did you buy that delectable arrangement in 
lace and jet to-day?” 

“ The idea of a connoisseur in ladies’ dress asking 
such a foolish, question !” cried Sybil, “ as if one could 
buy such a thing ready-made ! This dress is more than 
two years old besides, and by no means in the height of 
the fashion.” 

“Bother the ‘height of the fashion,’ as long as it’s 
graceful and becoming,” returned Lorrie. “That ame- 
thyst necklace and the roses give just the needed relief 
to the black.” He stopped on their way through the 
hall to inspect two cards. “ So they both called ; did 
you see them?” 

“No; Mr. Hargreave came just after I went out, 
and Norman just before I got home.” 

“Well, we shall soon see them now.” 


318 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


The drive seemed very short to both, Lorrie had sO 
much to tell, and Sybil so much to hear. Lorrie had 
called at his uncle’s house in Sussex Place on his way 
to Lincoln’s Inn, merely to ask when he was expected 
home ; and found that he had arrived by the night mail 
from Paris, and was at that moment having his break- 
fast and lunch together; after which he was going to 
Austin Friars, to see how things were going on. Noth- 
ing could have been more encouraging than his recep- 
tion of Lorrie ’s plan for setting to work. He had 
assured him that he should see that he had no chance 
to kick his heels. 

From Sussex Place Lorrie had gone to look up his 
friend Wilder, who had a room, as he expressed it, that 
had been waiting for months for him to come and take 
possession. “Your relations will look after you,” he 
had said ; “ j^ou will have a table full of briefs before 
you can look round and Lorrie felt it was more than 
likely to prove true, after his interview with his uncle, 
so that he was reasonably in high spirits. 

When they reached Portman Square, Mr. Hargreave 
himself met them in the hall. “At last!” he cried, 
grasping both Sybil’s hands; “I am heartily glad to 
see you, my dear child, after all these years. But you 
are not looking so well as I should like to see you,” he 
said with affectionate solicitude, giving her wrap to 
the servant, and drawing her hand through his arm. 

Sybil’s memories of the past were too deeply stirred 
by the sight of her old friend and by his kindness, to 
admit of her speaking at once; and Mr. Hargreave, 
feeling her hand tremble on his arm, turned to Lorrie ; 
“ I don’t believe I have shaken hands with you, Lorrie, 
my boy; how are you?” Lorrie grasped the hand that 
was held out to him. “ It’s an immense pleasure to 
have you both among us again, I can tell you. Oh !” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


319 


he exclaimed, as they reached the drawing-room door, 
“ I forgot to tell you ! here’s a pleasant surprise for 
you !” He said a pleasant surprise, but his voice fal- 
tered a little in the utterance. 

It was Lady Sara who came forward to receive them, 
taller and statelier than ever in her clinging black 
draperies. She kissed Sybil and gave a hand to Lorrie. 

Such a long time since we met, is it not? I hope you 
are both quite well.” 

‘‘Yes, thank you,” Sybil replied, and then Lady Sara 
led the way to where Nixie stood waiting. 

She looked slighter and sadder even than Sybil had 
expected, in her widow’s dress, and Sybil had great 
difficulty in keeping back the tears, seeming, as she did, 
to realize for the first time what a terrible thing had 
befallen her — how hopeless her grief was ! Nixie her- 
self was tearless and calm. They stood for a moment 
with their arms about each other; then Nixie said, still 
holding Sybil’s hand : 

“ Mamma, I want to take Sybil up to see her little 
sea-king. I promised him that I would.” 

“Very well, my love — it is not quite the half hour.” 

“Run away, then, but you mustn’t be long,” Mr. 
Hargreave said. 

Sybil stopped to shake hands with Norman; and 
when they reached the door, which he opened for them, 
a small, white barefooted figure came into view. 

“What’s this?” cried Norman. “Where did you 
spring from, little Jack? I didn’t see you as I came in.” 

He stooped, but the child eluded him with a little 
cry, “ I want Sybil !” and he ran into her arms. 

Lorrie glanced at Lady Sara, who stood looking on, 
and saw with much inward amusement that the cor- 
ners of her mouth were slightly drawn down, and her 
eyebrows slightly lifted. 


320 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“Little rogue!” exclaimed Mr. Hargreave, as the 
child clung to Sybil and kissed her again and again ; 
“what’s to be done with such a naughty boy?” 

“I not a naughty boy,” remonstrated the child. “I 
velly good boy.” There was a laugh, which set his 
mind at rest, and he returned to his caressing of Sybil. 

“ I only left him for a moment, my lady, ” pleaded 
Marie, Nixie’s maid, who, having had the care of him 
for only one day, could hardly be expected to know how 
enterprising a small sea-king could be. 

“ I am afraid he is the least little bit spoilt, ” Lady 
Sara said, smiling down upon her. 

“My little son!” murmured Nixie, clasping the rosy 
feet. 

“ I think we must let Marie take the pet up to bed,” 
said Lady Sara. “Good-night, dear child.” 

Little Jack submitted to being kissed by his grand- 
mother, but he frowned and resisted when Marie came 
to take him from Sybil. He was on the verge of tears, 
when his eyes fell on Lorrie. “Lolly s’all cally me,” 
he declared, stretching out his hands to Lorrie, who 
came with alacrity. 

“So I will, little man — if I may,” he said with a 
smiling appeal to Lady Sara, who could do no less than 
smile back an assent. So Lorrie carried the child to 
the top of the stairs, where Nixie and Sybil took pos- 
session of him. 

He was very good, and soon consented to being left 
with Marie without a murmur. At the head of the 
stairs Nixie paused. “Sybil,” she said, in a quiet 
voice, “ I couldn’t possibly have lived if I had lost my 
child too — do you think I could?” 

“I don’t see how you could, dear Nixie,” Sybil an- 
swered tearfully. 

“ Then you can see how thankful I must be to you 


SYBIL TRBVYLLIAN. 321 

and Lorrie for taking such good care of him for me, 
can’t you?” 

“DearMxie! you must know how thankful we are 
that we could help, ever so little, to save him for you.” 

“Yes — I do know.” 

They went back to the drawing-room and dinner 
was announced. 

Lorrie, of course, took in Lady Sara, and in the easy, 
pleasant talk that followed, whenever he met her calm, 
steel-blue eyes, he was conscious that, behind their 
smiling interest in the subject under discussion, there 
was cold disapproval of him and his presence. But to 
his surprise, it caused him no discomfort; her eyes 
were not more bright and steady than his when they 
met. 

Lady Sara had no intention that the old intimacy 
should be renewed. Now that Audley was at home 
again, and a widow, it really was not to he thought of. 
The Countess of Netherby must not take up with a cast- 
off lover of no distinction. Of course, the poor child 
would not think of such things for a long time to come, 
but Lorrance would have no delicacy about renewing 
his troublesome pretensions to her hand, as had been 
proved by his making his appearance on the scene the 
very day after her return ! 

Indeed, it was the mention of him and Sybil, in her 
husband’s account of the coming of little Jack, that 
had brought her so unexpectedly to Portman Square. 
She really yearned over her sorrow-stricken child, but 
it was not that yearning which moved her to take a 
journey of several hours, after a fortnight’s martyrdom 
to neuralgia, although no one suspected it. All her 
thoughts and intentions, with regard to Sybil and Lor- 
rie, were safely locked in the sanctuary of her own 
breast for the present. 

21 


322 


^YBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Mr. Hargreave assured Sybil that if the Queen her- 
self had alighted from a four-wheeler at his door, he 
should not have been more surprised — and pleased, of 
course — than he was when his wife drove up; but no 
wonder she couldn’t wait any longer to see poor Nixie 
and little Jack ! 

Later on Mr. Hargreave gave Sybil an account of 
some improvements he had made at Eden Wyck within 
a year or two. 

“You and Lorrie must come and stay with us,” he 
said, “and you shall see all I’ve been doing. Come 
back with us! don’t yon say so. Nixie?” 

Nixie assented gladly. “ Our country air will bring 
the roses to your cheeks again; they are much too 
white,” he added kindly. 

“You are very good, and we should like to see Eden 
Wyck again, but ” 

“ Oh, no huts — come and spend a fortnight with us, 
or a month, better still, instead of going back to that 
outlandish place down in the channel.” 

“ Thank you so much ! but ” 

“ More buts ! Sara !” 

Lady Sara finished what she was saying to Lorrie 
about some picture the}^ were discussing, and then 
turned to her husband. “Well, dear!” she said, in 
her most genial tones. Lorrie had seen that she was 
listening to him with but one ear — her eyes showed it. 

“ I am trying to persuade Sybil that she and Lorrie 
must come back to Eden with us for a long visit, and 
I want you to use your cleverest arguments to overcome 
her tiresome ‘ buts.’ ” 

“ By all means, dear Kobert, I will do my best ; but 
I think Sybil should be allowed the liberty of speech, 
and my impression is that you have twice ruthlessly 


SYmL TREVYLLIAN. 323 

interrupted her when she was trying to tell you why 
she could not say yes to your invitation,” and she smiled 
upon Sybil, as if to say, “ Am I not right?” 

“ She can’t have any good reasons.” 

“Indeed, I have,” said Sybil. “I am going back to 
St. Clements to-morrow !” 

“To-morrow? must you really go so soon?” said 
Lady Sara; “then we must try and manage a visit 
later on, though it is a pity you cannot come now, for 
the country is only nice in warm, sunny weather, and 
we really are having a good deal of sunshine just now, 
for poor, dear, dingy England.” 

“No such climate in the world,” declared Mr. Har- 
greave, always ready to take up the cudgels for it 
against his wife’s attacks. 

“Fortunately for the rest of the world,” smiled Lady 
Sara. “If you have been long at St. Clements,” she 
said to Sybil, “you may have seen something of the 
young Grahams — Lynette and Clive. They have been 
staying with Mrs. Graham’s brother, at St. Hilda’s.” 

“Yes, we have seen something of them,” Sybil an- 
swered with some inward perturbation. 

“You could hardly have met them before since they 
came from India — you have been so little at home 
lately,” Lady Sara remarked. 

“Nixie would be interested to hear where your first 
meeting took place,” Norman said to Sybil. 

“ Where was it?” asked Nixie. 

“On the top of Treloar,” replied Norman, with a 
gleam of mischief in his eyes, as Lorrie saw. 

“O Norman!” exclaimed Nixie, her interest really 
roused at last. 

“I had it from Lorrie,” Norman declared — “had I 
not?” Lorrie assented. “ Clive had lured Lynette to 


324 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


the top of those crags, where she was seized with a 
panic, and but for Sybil’s timely assistance there is no ' 
knowing what might have happened.” 

“ But how came you to be there, Sybil?” Nixie asked. 

“ I had taken Caroline to see the ruins and gardens 
at St. Ann’s, and we discovered Clive and Lynette on 
our way back ; though, of course, I had no idea who 
they were at the time, as they were babies, almost, 
when I had seen them before.” 

“ And did you really climb to the top and get poor 
little Lynette down?” asked Nixie. “ I can just imag- 
ine how terrified she was, and what a comfort you were 
to her. But what happened when you got her safely 
down?” 

“We took them back to St. Hilda’s, as their boat had 
drifted away while they were on the rocks.” 

“Then, after that delightful adventure, I suppose 
you saw a good deal of them,” said Mr. Hargreave. 

“We did, as it happened,” Sybil replied rather reluc- 
tantly. “ They were lunching with us when the storm 
came on, and were obliged to stay until it was over.” 

“Which, I suppose, wasn’t for several days,” said 
Mr. Hargreave ; “ a jolly exchange for the young things, 
from the society of their invalid aunt.” 

“We were delighted to keep them,” said Sybil, feel- 
ing Lady Sara’s eyes upon her. 

“Has Mrs. Norcliffe been staying with you, Sybil?” 
Lady Sara asked, in such a coldly suggestive voice that 
Sybil shuddered inwardly. 

“ No, Lady Sara. Aunt Helen has been in the En- 
gadine for the last fortnight.” 

“Oh, indeed! I thought she went to St. Clements 
with you.” 

“She went with us, and stayed four or five weeks 
after her illness.” 


325 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAK 

‘‘Are Lynette and Clive still at St. Hilda’s?” 

“ Oh, no ! they went to Edinburgh to join their father 
and mother last Thursday,” Sybil answered, in some 
surprise. 

“ My last letter from Mrs. Graham was from Nor- 
way, ” Lady Sara explained, “ and they were not quite 
sure when they should be in Edinburgh. Poor Ly- 
nette !” she sighed, “ she would not be allowed to run 
wild like this if her own mother were living, one feels 
— admirable as Mrs. Graham is as a stepmother.” 

“Nonsense, Sara,” exclaimed her husband; “the day 
has gone by when girls were kept in glass cases, with 
grim duennas to keep the dust off.” 

Lady Sara deigned no reply to this remark, but rose 
from the table, after bestowing a furtive glance on 
Lorrie. His eyes were resting dreamily on the flowers 
in the centre of the table, while a slight smile played 
about his mouth ; and Lady Sara felt more than ever 
displeased with him for having ceased his wanderings, 
and reappeared in their world. 

When they left the dining-room Nixie went upstairs 
to see if little Jack was asleep, and Sybil was left to 
a tete-a-tete with Lady Sara. 

“Poor child,” sighed Lady Sara, as she seated her- 
self, after watching Nixie slowly ascending the stairs 
— “a widow at twenty-two! and to have lost such a 
husband !” 

“It seems like a terrible dream,” Sybil responded 
sorrowfully. 

After a pause Lady Sara remarked how fortunate it 
was that the child should have been spared — “ such a 
wonderful providence, and quite in spite of Dr. Thorn- 
ton’s almost criminal want of caution in taking such 
risks as he did.” 

“What risks do you mean. Lady Sara?” Sybil 


326 


SYBIL TREXn^LLIAN. 


asked, the resentment she felt suggesting itself in her 
voice. 

“‘What risks,’ do you ask, Sybil?” said Lady Sara 
coldly, turning her eyes full upon her ; “ did yon not 
know that they came from Java in a third-rate steamer, 
instead of waiting for a P. and O. as he clearly ought 
to have done? He evidently thought, only of himself, 
in his haste to get away.” 

“ I am very sure Dr. Thornton did what he thought 
was best for the child,” Sybil said, as calmly as she was 
able. “ It was most important that he should escape 
from the heat, and it would have made a delay of sev- 
eral days if they had waited for a P. and O.” 

“The event proved his want of judgment, I am 
afraid,” Lady Sara replied. “A first-class steamer 
would have weathered the storm, or escaped it alto- 
gether. But, fortunately for us all, especially for poor, 
dear Audley, the child did not share his — fate; I will 
not say, the fate he deserved” 

“ The child was saved by his wonderful care and de- 
votion,” said Sybil, with a thrill in her voice that Lady 
Sara made a note of. 

“ He could hardly have done less than everything in 
his power to save the little life he had imperilled by 
his imprudent haste, I should think.” 

Sybil made no response ; and she was thankful when 
Nixie’s return put an end to the conversation. 

When the gentlemen came in, Lorrie drew a chair 
beside Nixie, and Norman seated himself on the sofa, 
by Sybil, while Mr. Hargreave surveyed the group 
with a rueful countenance. The three pale, serious 
faces, and the three black dresses, together with the 
dim, shaded lights that Lady Sara loved, oppressed 
him sorely. 

“Let us have a little music,” he begged. “Sybil, I 


SYBIL TBEVYLLTAN. 


3^7 


want to hear you sing once more. What were some of 
those old favorites of mine that I used to ask for so 
often that you laughed at me? ‘O wert thou in the 
cauld blast’ was one; let’s have it.” 

“ Do you think that was one?” asked Sybil faintly, 
feeling it impossible to sing, yet not liking to refuse. 

“I’m sure of it! and here’s Norman to sing it with 
you ; it will seem like old times to hear that old song.” 

Norman looked deprecatingly at Sybil, who made no 
movement until Mr. Hargreave came to offer her his 
arm to lead her to the piano. 

“O papa! please, not to-night — I couldn’t bear it 
yet.” Nixie’s cry seemed wrung from her; it was in- 
voluntary and most plaintive. 

“ My dear child ! I quite understand — forgive me, ” 
her father said, coming to her side and laying his hand 
tenderly on her drooping head. 

There was a brief silence ; then the talk begaii again, 
and went on with tolerable cheerfulness for another 
half hour, when Sybil and Lorrie took their leave. 

“ Shall we really not see you again before you go back 
to St. Clements?” Nixie asked wistfully, when they 
said good-by. 

“ I am afraid not, dear, as I start so early to-morrow. ” 

“Your little sea-king will be sorry, and so am I,” 
Nixie said. 

“ You must tell him she is coming to make us a visit, 
by and by, and that will comfort him,” said Mr. Har- 
greave. “ Mind you let us know when you are back in 
town, Lorrie, so that we can arrange for your coming 
to Eden. Perhaps we can get the little Grahams too ; 
that would be a jolly party, wouldn’t it?” 

“Indeed it would!” Lorrie responded. “Thanks — 
we will be sure to let you know.” 

When her husband and son came back from seeing 


328 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


their visitors off, Lady Sara said musingly, “ I wonder 
whether there was a formal engagement between Sybil 
and Dr. Thornton.” 

“Mamma! what can you mean?” cried Nixie in 
amazement. 

“Nonsense! my dear Sara,” said her husband; “a 
formal engagement between Sybil and Dr. Thornton? 
— why, such a thing was never even dreamed of ; they 
were never anything more than friends. I should have 
been certain to know of it if they had been.” 

“ It is just possible that you might be a little less 
positive if you had heard our conversation to-night, 
while Audley was up with little Jack,” Lady Sara re- 
turned, with voice and manner full of suggestion. “ I 
am sure you are very tired, my love,” she said to Nixie. 
“You have had a most trying day, and I really think 
you should go to bed at once.” 

Nixie rose without replying, looking, indeed, too 
weary and troubled to speak, and bade her father good- 
night. 

“ I am coming up with you, dearest,” Lady Sara said. 

“Norman, where are you?” Nixie asked, looking 
about the dim room. “Come and say good-night to 
me;” and Norman came from the window, where he 
had been gazing out into the shadowy square. 

“How pale you are, darling,” Nixie said anxiously, 
as he kissed her; “are you feeling ill?” 

“No, dear — only a slight headache,” Norman replied. 
It would have been truer had he said, “ Only a terrible 
heart-ache.” 


CHAPTER XLIIL 


And her voice was faint, but her woi<l 
Smote their fears like a sword, 

Till the wounded forgot his pain 
And the sick grew strong again ; 

And she swore them to an oath 
They would die ere they broke troth. 
They would never yield tlie place. 
Then she smiled — but the smile stopped. 
And the flag — with her hand it dropped. 
And, lo ! death was in her face. 


—E. H. 


^ ^ HE hasn’t grown saintly, has she?” was Lor- 



rie’s remark, as they drove from Mr. Har- 
greave’s door. 

“ Saintly ! I should think not !” Sybil responded, Avith 
such unwonted energy that Lorrie laughed out. 

“ The infallible proofs were pretty apparent, weren’t 
they?” he said. 

“ I shouldn’t have expected her to be very nice to us,” 
Sybil went on, her cheeks burning, and her eyes glow- 
ing with indignation, “and I didn’t mind anything, 
until she spoke unkindly of Dr. Thornton ; then I was 
angry. I could hardl}^ bear it. I should have liked to 
leave the room and never to have seen her again — it 
was so cruel !” 

“ Did she really speak unkindly of him?” asked Lor- 
rie, with mingled anger and pity, and a touch of sur- 
prise that Sybil could refer to it so unreservedly. 

“ She blamed him for not waiting for another steamer. 


329 


330 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


even saying that he thought only of his own conven- 
ience,” Sybil answered, brushing away hot tears of 
resentment. 

“ The wretch !” cried Lorrie. “ But never mind,” he 
added soothingly. “ Her opinion isn’t worth thinking 
of twice; nobody else would dream of blaming him. 
What amuses me is that she thinks I am going to 
make love to poor little Nixie again. I did long to tell 
her that she needn’t trouble herself, for I meant to 
marry Lynette.” 

“How could such a thought enter her mind?” said 
Sybil, in shocked tones ; “ it is perfect sacrilege ! How 
startling it was to be greeted by her ! and how disap- 
pointing — when we thought she was safe at Eden 
Wyck.” 

“Yes, it was deuced bad luck. I thought for a mo- 
ment that you were going to turn about and dee,” 
laughed Lorrie. 

When they reached home Lorrie hurried on to the 
library; and as Sybil followed, he turned to her, hold- 
ing up a letter that she might see the Scotch postmark. 
His hand trembled, and his face was agitated, though 
he tried to carry it off lightly. “ Here it is — the much- 
desired! and now my courage fails! Dare I open it?” 

“Shall I open it for you?” asked Sybil playfully. 

“I have half a mind to let you read it first,” he re- 
turned, but seating himself at the table. “What do 
you suppose it says?” he asked, as he put a paper-knife 
in at one side of the envelope, and slowly cut it across. 

“Something you will like, I am sure,” Sybil an- 
swered ; and though she felt very tremulous, she really 
had no misgivings. “ I am going up to see Caroline, 
and when I come back you will tell me. He won’t need 
to tell me,” she thought, as she went away. “I shall 
see it in his face.” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


OOI 
tjol 

She ^yas talking with Caroline about the next day’s 
journey and some final arrangements, when she heard 
Lorrie’s step in the hall and on the stairs, and ran out 
to meet him, with a sudden fear that something was 
wrong. The sight of his face made her heart sink; 
and while she stood longing, jet dreading, to hear all, 
he passed on to his room, saying coldly, “ The letter is 
in the library, if you care to read it.” 

Sybil looked after him as he shut himself in, feeling 
utterly unequal to any emergency ; but she mechanically 
turned to the stairs. However, Caroline’s quick ear 
had caught Lorrie’s words, and half-guessing what 
they meant, she hastened after Sybil. “ Let me fetch 
it, miss — it’s the letter that came by the last post, isn’t 
it?” She brought the letter open, as Lorrie had left it 
lying on the floor, and Sybil read with fast-beating 
heart : 


Forres, near Perth, August — , 18—. 

My dear Mr. Trevyllian : — There has been some little de- 
lay in the receipt of your letter, as we left Edinburgh on Fri- 
day, and letters were forwarded to us here, yours among them. 
We had already heard from Lynette and Clive of their visit to 
St. Clements, so unavoidably prolonged by the storm, and of 
IMiss Trevyllian’s kindness; and T must confess we were some- 
what prepared for the contents of your letter. 

I can hardly consider as a stranger the son of so old and 
valued a friend as your father, whose face I missed more 
than any other that had vanished from the old ranks on my re 
turn from India, and I am disposed to regard you very kindly 
for his sake. But inasmuch as we have not met since you were 
a boy, and as Lynette is rather young to think of love and mar- 
riage yet awhile, and, above all, as you have only known each 
other for a few days, I cannot help regarding jmur letter as 
somewhat premature, and feeling it better that the matter should 
rest where it is for the present. You must not think it unkind 
if I tell you frankly that it would have been wiser if you had 
not spoken to Lynette of your feeling for her while she was 
your sister’s guest and in a way thrown upon your hospitality. 


332 SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 

But I do not wish to make too much of that error of judgment 
I am ready to make all due allowance for the impulsiveness of 
youth ; and when we return in October, if you are both of the 
same mind, we may discuss the matter further. 

In the mean time, with kind regards to Miss Trevyllian, and 
thanking her for her kind hospitality to my son and daughter, 
believe me. 

Yours very truly, 

James Graham. 

Sybil’s eyes filled with tears at the allusion to her 
father, and she could not at once go on with the letter. 

It was not what she had hoped and believed it would 
be, yet she felt relieved and could not but acknowledge 
that it was both kind and reasonable — just what they 
really ought to have expected. In substance it was 
almost an echo of what she had said to Lorrie, when 
he appealed to her that day at Quesne, though her sym- 
pathy and hope had so soon got the better of her calmer 
judgment. It was certainly trying for Lorrie, and she 
blamed herself for having encouraged him, as she un- 
doubtedly had, to believe there would be no delays, and 
that the course of his true love would run without a 
ripple. Yet what was it, after all? nothing that should 
make him seriously unhappy. 

“I must go and have a little talk with Mr. Lorrie,” 
she said, as she put the letter in its envelope. 

Caroline disapproved. “I do hope you won’t be 
long,” she said. “You do look so tired, and with that 
journey to-morrow ” 

“No, I shan’t be long,” Sybil replied. 

Lorrie called out, “Come in,” when she knocked at 
his door. 

“Was there ever such an idiot as I have been?” he 
demanded bitterly, as Sybil seated herself, too down- 
hearted to speak at sight of his dreary face. 

“Why, Lorrie! I don’t see that you need call your- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


333 


self such an objectionable name,” she said as lightly as 
she was able. 

“Well, I do,” he muttered, with an impatient ges- 
ture. “ Didn’t I spend the whole of yesterday on a 
fool’s errand? and haven’t I been nursing idiotic hopes 
for days past? One lesson, such as I have had, would 
have served for anything but a fool — no sane man could 
possibly require more,” and he went striding angrily 
up and down the room. 

“Come and sit here, Lorrie, dear,” Sybil said, in a 
tone that was half pleading and half imperative. “ I 
cannot talk to you while you are walking about,” and 
it was very clear that she could not, for her voice was 
so faint it hardly reached him. He came and sat down 
beside her on the couch. 

“ Now, dear, tell me what it is you dislike so much 
in Colonel Graham’s letter. I think it very reasonable 
and kind.” 

“Do you? Well, I think it perfectly detestable — a 
sneaking way of putting an end to the whole thing. I 
consider Lynette as much lost to me as if he had flatly 
refused his consent, now and forever.” 

“You cannot really think that,” said Sybil, looking 
wonderingly at Lorrie. 

“I do think that,” he retorted. “I don’t see what 
else you can make of it. Instead of letting me come 
and plead my cause, and prove to him that I trulj^ love 
her, and that she loves me, he puts me off until October, 
when we ‘may discuss the matter further,’ if we are 
‘ both of the same mind!’ Confound him! another of 
those infernal probations. I am sick to death of them.” 

Lorrie might have been startled into something like 
reason, if he had known how disheartened Sybil felt at 
seeing him give way like this, instead of meeting his 
disappointment with manly courage. She leaned back 


334 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


for a minute or two, with closed eyes and clasped hands, 
feeling too weary to combat his gloomy view. 

With a sudden impulse she leaned her head against 
his arm, and in a soft, pleading voice, she said : “ Do 
you wonder so much, dear, that Lynette’s father guards 
#her so jealously? — don’t you think she is worth being 
careful of? Do you think it so unreasonable that he 
does not say, ‘Yes,’ the moment you ask for her, when 
you are really an utter stranger to him? Is it so very 
hard — such a cruel condition — that you should have to 
wait for his answer for a few weeks? W as it a ‘fool’s 
errand’ to set about doing something that would prove 
to her father that you mean to make much of the life 
you want her to accept? and ivere the hopes ‘idiotic’ 
that you have been nursing these few days? O Lorrie!” 

“ Sybil !” he cried, “ I see it all. I'am a craven — worse 
than a fool ; but if there is any strength in me — good 
God !” he cried out bitterly, “ how a man is met at every 
turn by an evil self that he thought dead and buried. 
Does it ever cease to blind his reason and sap his cour- 
age?” 

“Yes — oh, yes,” answered Sybil, “if he is faithful to 
his better self! It may be a fierce struggle, but he 
must win.” She was silent a moment, gathering her 
forces that seemed almost spent. “We have both been 
rather foolish,” she went on quietly; “we have taken 
it for granted that Colonel Graham would see things as 
we did, which really was not possible — his side of the 
question is a very different matter from ours. We are 
naturally in great haste to get possession of Lynette, 
and he is, as naturally, in no haste to lose her. We 
know how dearly we love her, and how happy we mean 
her to be, but we can’t expect — we ought not to have 
expected — him to take your very first word for it.” 

“ He might have given me the chance I asked for — to 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


335 


present mj^self for his inspection, and not have put me 
off until October,” Lorrie returned dismally, but with- 
out bitterness. 

“Lorrie — don’t be angry with me,” Sybil said, turn- 
ing to him, “but I should have done exactly as Colonel 
Graham has, if I had been Lynette’s father !” 

“Yes,” Lorrie replied, rather grimly. “I remember 
that you entered into a father’s feelings so deeply, that 
day, that you would have had me let her go away with- 
out telling her I loved her, or knowing whether she 
loved me. It is very forbearing of you not to have 
said, ‘I told you so!’ before now, for you used her 
father’s very words, almost — do you remember?” 

“Yes,” sighed Sybil. 

“ But in spite of everything and everybody I am glad 
I spoke ! It is a great thing to know that she loves 
me, and to know that she knows I love her !” 

“ Indeed it is ! I am glad you spoke ! there’s consis- 
tency and morals for you!” responded Sybil with 
momentary gayety. 

“Sybil,” cried Lorrie, “you are an angel without 
being a prig or a prude ! the sole instance on record, I 
fully believe.” 

“ Thank you, dear, for your flattering discrimina- 
tion,” Sybil returned lightly. “Now it is really time 
we went to bed, as we — you and I and Caroline — are 
to start so early.” She looked at him with wistful eyes. 

“‘We?’ ” he repeated in surprise. 

“ You were to have gone to Scotland — at least so we 
foolishly imagined,” said Sybil bravely; “but as Colo- 
nel Graham won’t have you just yet, you must come 
with me. ” 

“Wouldn’t it be more politic for me to stay in town 
and go to chambers every day, in case Colonel Graham 
should wish to spy out my ” 


336 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ Lome, for shame !” cried Sybil, putting her fingers 
on his lips. “ I do want you to go with me,” she added 
pleadingly. “ I don’t feel equal to taking care of my- 
self and Caroline. You can write to Uncle John, and 
tell him that if he has any work for you, he must tele- 
graph, and you will come up to town at once. Do ee — 
there’s a darling.” 

Lorrie had looked at her anxiously, when she spoke 
of not feeling equal to going alone with Caroline, and 
was shocked, as he had been at breakfast, by the pallor 
of her face and the inexpressible languor of the eyes. 
“ Of course I will go with you, dear, ” he said gently — 
“ that is, if you have more faith in the sea-breezes to 
make you well than in a London doctor.” 

“ The very idea of my having a London doctor, when 
in a few hours I can have the best doctor in the world !” 
Sybil said. “ It will be so nice to have you go with 
me,” she added, as she kissed him good-night. “And 
remember, darling, there is no dark side to this matter. 
Have faith in Lynette, and faith in yourself, and pa- 
tience, and write a nice, sensible letter to Colonel Gra- 
ham, and you will see — all will go beautifully well.” 

When, with Caroline’s help, Sybil had got to bed, 
she lay so long quite still with closed eyes, that Caro- 
line thought she was asleep, and was quietly leaving 
the room, feeling very uneasy about her young mistress, 
when she spoke. 

“Is everything ready?” she asked faintly, without 
opening her eyes. 

“Yes, Miss Sybil, quite. But do you really think 
you will be well enough to get up that early, and take 
that long journey to-inorrow?” 

“ Oh, yes, Caroline ! I must get back to St. Clements 
— I do so long to see and hear and smell the sea. I 
shall be well when I do — not that I am ill now, only so 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN 


337 


tired — my heart and I.” The last words were inaudi- 
ble, even to Caroline’s quick ear. “Mr. Lorrie will 
take such good care of us,” Sybil added. 

“ Let me fetch a blanket, and sleep on the sofa,” Car- 
oline said coaxingly. “ I am sure you will rest better 
for knowing I am here. ” 

“Oh, no, you dear, kind Caroline! I am sure to 
sleep.” 


22 




m 




CHAPTER XLIV. 


So tired, so tired, my heart and I. 


— Mrs. Broivning. 


AROLINE stole to Sybil’s door several times in 



\j the course of the next hour or two, but all was 
still within ; and hoping that she was sleeping quietly, 
she went to bed. At six o’clock she called Lorrie, and 
then went on to Sybil’s room. As her knock received 
no response, she softly went in. 

Sybil was lying in much the same position as when 
she had left her, a few hours before, and she felt it 
cruel to disturb what seemed, at first, to be the sweet- 
est, soundest sleep. “Poor lamb — I can’t bear to do 
it, ” she whispered to herself, while she looked upon the 
face that she loved better than anything else in the 
world, grieved to see how pale it was, and at the thought 
of the long, tiring journey to come. 

She put her hands softly on the small white ones that 
lay locked together on the counterpane, and the eyes 
opened suddenly. Caroline’s heart sank like lead at 
seeing that the lashes were wet with tears. A long, 
faint, quivering sob broke from the white, dry lips as 
she stood as if stunned. 

“What is it, dear? Do tell me what troubles you,” 
she said, in deep distress. 

“Nothing.” The answer was so faint that Caroline 
only caught the word because she was bending over 
the pillow. 


338 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


339 


“I am afraid you have had a bad night,” she said, 
with bitter self-reproaches for having left her. 

“ No — a little water, please, Caroline. Oh, don’t go 
away — do stay with me !” 

“Yes, dear,” Caroline answered, as the startled eyes 
fidlowed her. “ I was only going to get you some 
water. I shan’t leave you again, you may be sure,” 
she said soothingly. 

The eyes lost their terrified look, but when Caroline 
brought the water and lifted the poor head that could 
not lift itself, the tears fell fast, and the parched lips 
trembled as they pressed the edge of the tumbler. 

“ Has anything grieved you?” Caroline asked ten- 
derly, with tears in her own eyes. 

“No — nothing.” Again that faint, quivering sob, 
making her heart fairly stand still. It reached Lorrie’s 
ear as he came to see if Sybil was ready for their early 
breakfast. There was no time to spare, he had meant 
to say. Startled by the dimness and stillness of the 
room, and far more by that sad cry, he pushed open 
the door, which was ajar, and looked in. Caroline 
beckoned him to come. 

“What is it?” he asked in dismay, as he drew near 
the bedside. 

“Nothing — never mind,” Sybil whispered, opening 
her eyes for an instant upon him, with a piteous attempt 
to smile, but closing them again quickly to shut in the 
tears that she could not keep back. 

“My darling! why do you cry?” asked Lorrie in 
trembling tones, bending over her and pressing his lips 
to her forehead. “ Won’t you tell us what it is that 
troubles you?” 

“I can’t — I don’t know,” she moaned, moving her 
head from side to side; “oh, I donH know!” 

Lorrie turned to Caroline, cold and sick with fear. 


340 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“We must have the doctor at once,” he said; “I’ll go 
and send some one.” 

“Yes, do, Mr. Lorrie,” Caroline responded cheerfully, 
for Lorrie’s voice was so full of distress that it recalled 
one of her cardinal doctrines — that there should be no 
dismal voices, nor whispers, in a sick-room. “Ask 
him to come as soon as he can; say that Miss Sybil is 
weak, and needs something strengthening. ” 

“ Lorrie — not Dr. Thornton,” Sybil spoke faintly with 
her eyes closed, but opened them upon Lorrie as he bent 
over her, white and full of terror. “What did I say? 

Am I — I didn’t mean ” and with a moan her head 

drooped on one side. 

“Never mind, dear,” Caroline said gently; but she 
paused in great alarm as she saw that Sybil had lost 
consciousness. 

When Dr. Percy, a kind, sensible, and clever man 
who attended the Hargreaves, arrived, he looked very 
grave at what Lorrie told him of S3^birs symptoms. 
“Has she had any sudden shock, or overtaxed her 
strength in any way?” he asked. 

Lorrie hesitated. He thought of the shipwreck and 
of Dr. Thornton ; and he thought, too, with bitter pangs, 
of his own share in wearing out her powers of endur- 
ance. He felt for the moment as if he alone were re- 
sponsible for this terrible collapse. “ She has had much 
to try her and tax her strength,” he replied in tones that 
excited the doctor’s sympathy. 

“ A succession of worries or excitements might bring 
on a state such as you describe, quite as readily as a 
sudden shock, in a sensitively organized person ; but, 
of course, any opinion is worthless until I have seen 
my patient.” 

“You will do all ” 


Lorrie’s voice failed him. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


841 


“ I will give her my very best care and skill — trust 
me,” the doctor said kindly. 

Lorrie showed him to Sybil’s door and went back to 
the library to await his return in a state of mind that 
cannot be described. 

Sybil had soon recovered consciousness under the 
restoratives Caroline had used ; but she had ever since 
lain with closed eyes, neither moving nor speaking. 
Her eyes opened languidly for a moment, as Dr. Percy 
seated himself by the bed and laid his fingers on her 
wrist ; but she took no further notice of anything that 
was said or done, only answering his questions with 
a listless “ Yes” or “ No.” Once the tears pressed from 
beneath the closed lids, and the doctor listened as the 
faint, shivering sob broke from the pale lips. 

“ Is anything grieving you?” he asked gently. 

“I don’t know — yes — oh, no! nothing, nothing.” 
She put her hand under her cheek, and the tears fell 
unheeded on the pillow. 

The doctor sat beside her for a long time, watching 
the effect of something he had given her to take. At 
length he wrote out minute directions for Caroline’s 
use. 

“You will have the nursing of Miss Trevyllian, I 
suppose?” he said, having come to the conclusion that 
she was to be trusted, and he need say nothing about 
a trained nurse for the present. 

“ Yes, sir, I hope so. I should be very sorry to let 
anybody take my place,” Caroline replied ; she had been 
very fearful that the doctor would not think her com- 
petent ; “ I will do just what you tell me, sir. I am 
sure you may trust me.” 

“Oh, yes! I am sure I may; you will be the best 
possible nurse for her, I quite believe.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Caroline said from her heart. 


342 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“After all, there is not so much skill as devotion 
needed in 5mur young mistress’ case, and I don’t think 
you will fail in that” Then he told her what he 
wished to have done during the day, and that he would 
look in again later. 

Caroline watched his face so anxiously — while he 
stood for a moment watching Sj^bil, who might have 
been lifeless but for the faintest stirring of the frills 
about the neck of her night-dress, showing that she 
breathed — that he turned to her. “ A nurse mustn’t be 
too anxious,” he said cheerfully; “she must be hopeful 
and full of courage to do her duty well ; can you man- 
age that?” 

“ I toill, sir, ” Caroline answered stoutly. 

“All right! then you will give our patient her best 
chance,” and with another intent look at Sybil he left 
the room. 

He would gladly have escaped seeing Lorrie on his 
way out; he went quietly down the stairs and was 
hurrying past the library door, when Lorrie appeared. 
“ I can’t tell you much after only one visit,” he said, in 
answer to his questioning eyes. “This evening, or 
to-morrow, I can speak with more certainty.” 

“ What is it?” asked Lorrie fearfully, leaning heavily 
against the door; “you can tell me that much.” 

“ It is a sort of nervous prostration,” the doctor replied 
guardedly ; “ she needs good nursing, and she is very 
certain to get it from that level-headed, devoted maid 
of hers.” He smiled encouragingly. “I shall look in 
again this evening, when I hope to find good effects 
from the prescription I have left. Good-morning. ” 


CHAPTEE XLV. 


Yet in the quiet drooping of a lid 
What passion of despair may not lie hid ! 

And ’neath the quivering lip whence breaks no cry, 
What voluble eloquence of agony ! 


—R. H. 


ADY SARA’S neuralgia came on again so severely 



I 1 in the night, after Lorrie’s and Sybil’s visit, that 
the doctor was sent for in the morning. 

She looked very invalidish, but very handsome, when 
she received him in her charming boudoir, arrayed in 
a soft rich silk peignoir^ an incredibly fine cashmere 
shawl thrown about her shoulders, and an equally fine 
Spanish lace scarf enveloping her poor, painful head. 
It was one of her vaunted weaknesses — the love of hav- 
ring everything handsome about her ; it being not so 
much, in her view, that fine feathers make fine birds, 
as that fine birds deserve fine feathers. 

In the course of the visit. Dr. Percy mentioned his 
having been summoned to St. Austells very early that 
morning, the news of Sybil’s sudden illness causing 
Nixie a great shock. In answer to Lady Sara’s inqui- 
ies as to the nature of the illness, the doctor said that 
so far as he was able to judge after once seeing the pa- 
tient, it was a case of severe nervous prostration. 

“ Really ! it seems to be a family idiosyncrasy,” Lady 
Sara remarked ; “ her brother had an attack of the kind 
some 5"ears ago.” 

“Indeed?” was the doctor’s response. He would 


343 


344 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


have been glad to ask a question or two, but be bad 
caught the startled, almost frightened, look in Nixie’s 
eyes, and noticed how studiously Lady Sara had avoided 
meeting it, and thought it better to forego the benefit 
of any information he might have gained . 

“ Are you going to leave me, dear?” Lady Sara asked, 
as Nixie moved languidly toward the door when the 
doctor had departed. 

“Yes, mamma, I want to see what baby is doing, 
and then I want papa to take me to see poor Sybil.” 

“My dear child!” exclaimed Lady Sara, her two 
hands pressed to her temples, “ surely, surely you are 
not strong enough for such a long drive, and for the 
excitement of such a visit. Besides, dear Audley, it 
may be a case of nervous prostration, as the doctor be- 
lieves — no doubt it is, but we cannot be sure that it is 
not incipient typhoid or diphtheria, of some other in- 
fectious disease. It is so wrong to take risks in such 
things. Be advised, my dear child,” she said with 
plaintive gentleness, “ and send a servant to make 
inquiries.” 

“ I don’t think there can he the smallest risk, mamma. 
The doctor would have known if there had been any 
danger of the kind, and I can’t bear not to go and see 
poor Sybil and let her know how grieved I am at her 
being ill. I will see whether papa can take me,” and 
Nixie hurried away without giving her mother time to 
remonstrate further, never dreaming what was really 
in her mind with regard to the proposed visit. She 
could not, on such short notice, air her real objection. 

She went in search of her father when she had found 
little Jack absorbed and happy with Marie and his 
sudden accumulation of toys, Mr. Hargreave and 
Norman were reading in the library, waiting for lunch 
before going out. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


345 


“Papa,” Nixie said, “poor Sybil didn’t start for St. 
Clements this morning; she is very ill, and ” 

“Very ill? not gone?” cried Mr. Hargreave, greatly 
startled. “ How did you hear?” 

“ Dr. Percy has been to see mamma, and he told us,” 
Nixie answered, her eyes fixed on Norman’s face, which 
had become deathly pale, even to the lips. 

“ How did he know?” Mr. Hargreave asked anxiously. 

“ He had been to see her, papa, before he came here,” 
Nixie replied, thinking more of Norman than of Sybil 
— of that look of white agony she had caught before 
he rose and walked to the window. 

“ I shall ride over at once and find out what it all 
means,” said Mr. Hargreave, going to the bell. 

“I want to go with you, papa,” Nixie said quickly; 
“ I might be able to do something — if she is really ill. ” 
She longed to lessen the sharpness of the blow she had 
unwittingly dealt. • 

“ So you shall,” her father responded. “ Tell More to 
bring the brougham round as soon as he can,” he said 
to the servant, “ and tell them to hurry up lunch. You 
mustn’t go without your lunch. Well, well, this is ter- 
ribly sudden. She seemed all right last night, though 
a little too pale. ” 

“ I think it is only that she has been doing too much,” 
Nixie said cheerfully, “ taking that long journey and 
not resting after it.” She dared not look again at Nor- 
man, lest it should suggest to her father how little 
interest he seemed to take in Sybil’s illness. 

“ I do wonder if there is any truth in your 
mother’s ” 

“No, no, papa! not a word of truth!” cried Nixie; 
“mamma is utterly mistaken.” 

Norman turned with a quick, involuntary movement; 
but meeting Nixie’s anxious eyes, he slowly left the 


346 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


room while his father was saying, “You both seem 
very positive; I wish to Heaven we knew which is 
right, for if your mother is, poor Sybil’s illness is easily 
accounted for. But you had better put your bonnet on, 
and by that time lunch will be up.” 


CHAPTER XLVI. 


Come to me and pour thy woe 
Into this heart, full though it be, 

Ay, overflowing, with its own. 

—Shelley. 

W HEN Mr. Hargreave and Nixie returned from St. 

Austells, Norman was sitting in the library with 
a book, much as if he had been there all the afternoon. 
Lady Sara appeared at the same moment, and asked 
the question that he could not have asked if his life had 
depended upon it, it seemed to him. 

“Well, and how did you find poor Sybil?” 

“She is very seriously ill,” Mr. Hangreave replied 
gravely. Nixie glanced at Norman, who had seated 
himself out of the range of Lady Sara’s eyes; and she 
saw that his brow was contracted and his lips com- 
pressed; he looked like one who had had a wearing 
illness. 

“ I am grieved to hear it,” Lady Sara returned; “but 
I cannot say that I am very much surprised. A sharp 
shock to the nervous system is apt to be prostrating. 
Have they got a proper nurse?” 

“ The doctor was there, and he seems to have great 
faith in Caroline ; she is the only nurse at present. ” 
“Nobody could be better than Caroline,” Nixie said; 
“ she is devoted to Sybil, and has had a good deal of 
experience in nursing.” 

Lady Sara lifted her brows slightly but made no 
other comment. “ I understood the doctor to say that 
347 


348 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAH. 


he was not to call again until the evening ; had he been 
sent for?” 

“ Yes ; poor Sybil was unconscious so long that Lorrie 
and Caroline became very much alarmed and sent for 
him,” Mr. Hargreave answered. 

“Really! did you see the doctor?” Lady Sara asked. 

“Yes; but he didn’t seem inclined to express any 
opinion, and I didn’t like to ask questions. He only 
said that her splendid constitution and her youth were 
greatly in her favor.” 

Norman’s eyes were raised to his father’s face while 
he spoke, with a look that made Nixie catch her breath; 
and when he got up a moment later and left the room, 
she followed him, making but slight reply when Lady 
Sara asked if they were all going away just as tea was 
coming in. 

Norman was slowly mounting the stairs, as if each 
step were an effort ; but when he heard the library door 
open and close, he hurried on and shut himself in his 
own room, and Nixie paused. 

Norman had always treated her more as a petted 
child than as a companion and friend, and she had 
looked up to him with a sort of worshipful admiration. 
Until now she had never thought of wishing for any- 
thing beyond his ready sympathy in her own joys and 
sorrows, and his unfailing tenderness ; but now that she 
knew he was suffering, she wanted his friendship and 
confidence, as well as his love, and felt that her experi- 
ence of perfect happiness and deepest sorrow gave her 
the right to them. She longed that he should open his 
heart to her, and have the relief that fellowship in 
suffering must always give. But the power of habit 
was strong upon them both, she felt, and she stood at 
his door many minutes before she could summon cour- 
age to knock. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


349 


“May I come in?” she asked almost timidly, when 
Norman opened the door to her> 

“May you come in? of course you may. Come and 
sit down in my comfortable old chair,” he said, seating 
her gently, and placing himself on the couch close by. 
“ Have you seen the little sea-king since you came 
home?” 

“No,” she replied, almost wishing she had gone to 
him instead of coming there, she felt so constrained 
and tongue-tied. 

“ He’s a merry little chap. I heard him chattering 
and laughing as I came by. ” 

“Yes, he is a merry little darling,” Nixie responded, 
every nerve quivering with the intensity of her desire 
to break down the barrier and utter the name that was 
in both their thoughts. There was silence for a time, 
and when Nixie ventured to glance at her brother, he 
was leaning back with his hands clasped behind his 
head, and she saw that he had wholly forgotten her 
presence. 

“Norman ” 

“Yes, dear,” he said, coming back from his painful 
revery at the sound of her voice. 

“ I wish — oh — I do wish -” she could not go on ; she 

was trembling and cold, and Norman was silent. At 
length she spoke again, not saying at all what she 
had at first meant to say. “ I am so sorry that mamma 
should have mentioned — what she believes about poor 
Sybil.” 

Norman frowned, but made no remark. 

“She is so mistaken!” Nixie said earnestly. 

“You both seem very positive, as my father re- 
marked,” Norman said, leaning forward, and resting 
his arms on his knees without looking at Nixie. 

“But I am right— I knoiv,” she said tremulously; 


!50 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


and after a pause, as Norman neither moved nor spoke, 
she went on in low tones and with an effort, determined 
to say what she had thought would never pass her lips. 
“ I know — because poor Dr. Thornton himself told me 
— that he had offered himself to Sybil, and she had 
refused him. He knew that she could never love 
him.” 

When Nixie said the words, ‘‘she refused him,” Nor- 
man had rested his forehead in his hands, and then 
was silent and motionless as before. 

Presently Nixie went on : “I never thought I should 
have spoken of it, but I do want some one to know the 
truth, and there can be no wrong to him now in my 
telling you. It was on the yacht, when one day little 
Jack had somehow got possession of a little silver case 
belonging to the doctor and managed to open it, and 
brought it to me to show me the ‘pretty lady.’ It was 
Sybil and Lorrie — the little photographs taken so long 
ago. I remembered them so well. While I was shut- 
ting the case, and telling Boy that he must take it back 
and put it where he found it. Dr. Thornton came up ; 
and then he told me his sad story — so that I should not 
think, as he said, that he had any right to have a pic- 
ture of her in his possession. It was of her as his 
‘child friend’ — so, he said, he answered it to his con- 
science. ” 

There followed another silence, during which Norman 
kept the same position and Nixie sat with tightly 
clasped, cold hands, wishing he would speak. At 
length she said, gathering courage for one more essay : 
“ One cannot really wonder at Sybil’s being ill when 
one thinks of all she has endured from her father’s 
death until now ; to think what it was for her to lose 
him^ and to have Lorrie so depressed and miserable for 
so long” — Nixie could not stop to recall her own part 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


m 


in that sad experience — “ and then the shipwreck — oh, 
it is sad to think what she has suffered in these last 
three years.” She waited a little, and then added: 
“ But, as Dr. Percy was saying to-day at St. Austells, 
she will get over this, and be all the better for a long 
rest of body and mind.” Norman uttered a stifled 
groan. “She will, she will!” cried Nixie, almost faint 
with longing to have her words carry comfort and hope 
to his heart. 

“ Will they let you know if there is anything you can 
do?” Norman asked, after a silence of many minutes, 
leaning wearily back against the cushions, disclosing a 
face pale and worn, but with a new light in the dark 
eyes that gave Nixie a thrill of gladness. 

“ Yes,” she answered eagerly, “ Lorrie promised ; and 
T mean to spend to-morrow there in case I could relieve 
Caroline a little and let her have some sleep. We don’t 
want to have a strange nurse if we can possibly help it.” 

Just then there came the sound of a little fist pound- 
ing on the door, and little Jack’s voice called loudly, 
“ Ope’ ’e door, Unka Nor ! I want mine mamma !” 

Norman went to open the door, and Nixie said, “ Here 
I am, my pet,” as little Jack appeared, looking the per- 
sonification of happy childhood. 

“I been have mine tea wiv g’an’pa,” he cried, run- 
ning to Nixie. “ He did say oo must come, and Unka 
Nor, to have some tea too.” 

“Will you come, ‘Unka Nor?’ ” asked Nixie, taking 
little Jack’s hand. 

“No, thanks; I shall go for a walk instead.” 

Nixie stood looking wistfully up at him, playing 
nervously with the little hand she held, until, a faint 
smile softening his face, he came and kissed her fore- 
head. “Dear child!” he said gently, and she went 
away thinking, “ Yes, I am only a child to him ; he has 


352 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


let me say what I liked, but he has not said one word 
to show that he trusts me or cares for my sympathy. 
He doesn’t know that sorrow makes one grow old and 
experienced in a day.” 

Instead of going down to the library, she went, 
with little Jack clinging to her hand, to her own room ; 
and throwing herself upon the couch, she burst into an 
agony of weeping such as she had not given way to 
since meeting Norman at Brindisi. Little Jack stood 
beside her in great dismay, and presently began to cry 
too, laying his head down on the cushion with hers. 

Nixie put her arms about him. “My little son! my 
poor little fatherless child!” she moaned. 

“Why does oo ky, sweet one?” he asked, lifting his 
head and using the name for the first time that he had 
learned from his father in happier days — “has oo pain?” 

“Yes, darling — dreadful pain in my heart; it is 
broken !” 

“ I go get dotta, ” the child said, ceasing to cry, and 
loosing himself from her arms. 

“ Darling, come back !” Nixie cried when she realized 
that he was leaving her ; but he ran on to the door, 
saying more to himself than to her, “ Go get dotta — he 
mend it.” 

Norman was just coming from his room, and the 
child flew to him, catching his hand. “ Come find the 
dotta!” he cried breathlessly. “Mamma’s heart is 
byoke! Dotta mend it.” 

“ Is poor mamma’s heart broken, little one?” Norman 
said, much moved, taking the little hand to lead the 
child back to Nixie’s room, but he resisted. 

“We will come and see mamma first, shall we?” 
Norman said, and the child yielded, though unwillingly. 

Nixie had heard Norman’s voice, and when he looked 
in at the door which little Jack had left wide open, she 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


353 


was sitting up, trying bravely but with little success 
to dry her tears. 

“She ky so dyeadful,” sighed little Jack, looking pit- 
ifully up in her face, “and s’e’s heart is byoke.” 

Norman sat down beside her and drew her to him. 
“ Poor little Nixie !” he said, softly stroking her hair, 
“ you have been so brave, and borne up so wonderfully 
— I’m not surprised at your giving way at last. It 
isn’t well to be too brave, dear — it tries the heart too 
much; these tears will do you good, my poor child.” 

“Am I still only a child to you?” she asked, when 
her sobs had ceased, and little Jack had climbed into 
her lap, comforted at seeing that she was being com- 
forted. 

“ ’‘Only a child?’ ” Norman repeated. “You are the 
womanliest woman I have ever known — except one,” 
he said under his breath ; “ besides being the sweetest 
child.” 

Nixie had caught the words “ except one.” “ I know 
who that ‘one’ is,” she said softly, amazed at her own 
daring. 

“Do you?” Norman said, after a silence that Nixie 
thought would never be broken — “ and you don’t mind 
my excepting her?” 

“No! oh, no! I only wonder that you could say so 
much for me,” Nixie answered; and after another long 
silence, she said timidly, “ If I am really your friend, as 
well as your little sister, that you have always been so 
good to — you will trust me, won’t you?” 

“Trust you?” he repeated questioningly. 

“ I mean — you will not be annoyed, nor hurt, at my 
knowing — your great secret? you will trust me with 
thatf^ Nixie waited for the answer, which was long 
in coming. She felt the heart on which she leaned 
beating in quick, heavy throbs. 

23 


854 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“I am not annoyed,” he said at last, “and I could 
trust you with any secret ; but it is a pity that you — 
that I should have let you discover this, since it ought 
to have been forever buried in my own breast. I know 
it is safe with you.” 

He had spoken with such evident and painful effort, 
in broken sentences, that Nixie could but weep at such 
signs of his suffering. 

“ Don’t say it should have been forever buried !” she 
pleaded, when she could speak with tolerable composure. 
“ You must not say that.” 

“ I must feel it, at least,” Norman answered. “ When 
a man knows beyond a doubt that the woman he loves 
cares nothing for him, what right has he to do any- 
thing but submit to his fate in silence?” 

If he ‘knows beyond a doubt,’” Nixie said, hesi- 
tating and fearful; “but how can he know ‘beyond a 
doubt’ unless she has told him so? I should think it 
was impossible for him to know until he had heard it 
from her own lips — unless she had married some one 
else. ” 

“ You are mistaken. There are other signs as easily 
understood as ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ ” Norman answered sternly; 
and yet, if Nixie could have looked into his heart, she 
would have seen hope rising out of the ashes of despair. 
“A woman doesn’t treat a man suddenly, and that 
man a life-long friend, with cold reserve, making him 
feel that she regards him as the merest acquaintance of 
to-day, except to keep him from cherishing false hopes 
— as the kindest way of saving him, as well as herself, 
from needless pain and chagrin.” 

“ O Norman, it is you who are mistaken !” said Nixie 
earnestly. “ I don’t mean that it is true in Sybil’s case 

— of course, I cannot know; but ” Nixie paused, 

afraid, to say what was on her lips. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


355 


“ But — what?” Norman said, when she still hesitated; 
and she felt that his heart beat faster and louder. 

“ I was going to say,” Nixie began tremblingly, “ that 
what you describe is just what a proud woman would 
do — just what her manner would be in spite of herself, 
almost, if — if she loved a man and thought — he didn’t 
love her.” Nixie felt the hush that fell upon Norman’s 
heart as she uttered the words. “ So, you see, it does 
not necessarily prove that she is indifferent to him if 
she treats him with reserve.” Nixie’s voice was faint 
and broken, but she went on. “ I must not form con- 
jectures as to what Sybil’s changed manner to you may 
mean, only — do let me say this and forgive me if I am 
taking too much upon myself — do not, do not run the 
risk of missing perfect happiness for yourself and her 
by acting upon what you said a little while ago. Give 
her the chance to say ‘yes’ if she loves you.” Nixie’s 
voice fell to little more than a whisper as she said the 
last words, and she shivered from the strain upon her 
small stock of strength. 

“But if she does not? I shall give her the needless 
pain of saying ‘no.’ ” Nixie recognized the new thrill 
in Norman’s voice with a strange mixture of joy and 
fear. 

“ It would give her pain, but not needless pain, since 
there was no other way of taking the chance of happi- 
ness,” she answered bravely. 

Little Jack had fallen asleep in his mother’s laji, 
lulled by their quiet voices, and the brother and sister 
sat on in silence, and Nixie’s heart grew lighter in spite 
of her inward vision, that was never wholly absent, of a 
lonely grave far away over the sea where rested her own 
lost love; in spite of the memories of smiles and tender 
looks and utmost devotion and echoes of loving words 
that must always be memories and echoes only. 


CHAPTER XLVIL 


And O thou dying day, 

Even as thou goest must she too depart, 
And sorrow fold such j)inions on the heart 


As will not fly away ? 


—Rossetti. 


MESSENGER was sent to St. Austells in the even- 



A ing to bring back the latest tidings of Sybil, and 
they were far from reassuring. She was at times rest- 
less and delirious, and at other times lay in a stupor 
that was almost like death. Her temperature was still 
very high, and she was very weak. 

Lady Sara was sure it was an exaggerated statement, 
servants were so given to exaggeration ; but her hus- 
band and children wore not able to take that comforting 
view. 

Norman did not close his eyes that night; he did not 
even go to bed, and during his long, lonely vigil he 
lived over again the years since he had loved Sybil, 
more or less consciously. He set no bounds to that 
love in his thoughts; it seemed to him that there never 
had been a time when he did not love her with all the 
strength of his soul. 

But wherever he turned, looking back over the years, 
her eyes met his with the frank serenity that had al- 
ways made him afraid to speak of his love lest he 
should disturb their perfect friendship without win- 
ning what his heart hungered for. He recalled occa- 
sions, rare ones, when his fears had been almost over- 

356 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


357 


mastered ; the fateful words had trembled on his lips, 
and been driven back upon his heart by a smile or a 
look in the lovely eyes that recognized him as a friend, 
and nothing more. What struggles it had cost him at 
such times to steady himself and look and speak as a 
friend, and nothing more. 

With a shudder he recalled the sudden bitter convic- 
tion that had forced itself upon him soon after Mr. Tre- 
vy Ilian’s death, that there was something more than 
friendship between Sybil and Dr. Thornton. He won- 
dered, now, that the proofs had seemed so convincing. 
He even wondered if the suffering that had followed on 
that terrible certainty might not have been spared, if he 
had taken his fate into his own hands and offered her 
his heart and life. She could but have refused them, 
and perhaps — but the vision of happiness that flashed 
upon him at that possibility was more overpowering to 
him now than the despair he had learned to bear with 
a sort of stoical patience, and he turned to the time 
when he came back from his wanderings to be at Nixie’s 
wedding, and found Lorrie ill and Sybil inaccessible. 

It had seemed then that even their friendship was at 
an end ; and how bitterly he had envied Dr. Thornton 
the privilege of seeing her every day, in his attendance 
on Lorrie ; how tortured he had been with jealous con- 
jectures and convictions, and how unreasonably relieved 
he had been when Sybil had gone away with Lorrie to 
feel that their meetings were ended ! He had not doubt- 
ed that they were engaged, and yet he had gone abroad 
with the Netherbys with no other motive than the vain 
and foolish hope, as he felt it to be, of somewhere falling 
in with Sybil. He was starving — his heart was faint 
with longing to see her once more. He had assured 
himself that she belonged to some one else, that it was 
like a man’s deliberately facing a torturing death, for 


358 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


him to seek to look into her eyes again ; and yet — had 
a secret, unacknowledged hope lured him on? 

If so, Fate had cruelly mocked him, though as yet 
he was ignorant of that fact. More than once, while 
his heart was crying, “ Where is she? When shall I 
find her?” she was within reach of his hand and the 
sound of his voice. Once the close carriage in which 
she and Lorrie were driving from the Furka left clouds 
of dust between them and the Netherbys, who had spent 
the night at Gletsch, all the way to Viesch, where they 
drove on to the Hotel des Alpes, on their way to Brieg, 
while Norman and the Netherbys stopped at the Hotel 
de la Poste, on their way to the Eggischorn. Again, 
as we know, Sybil sat in the balcony at Homo d’ Ossola 
hearing his voice, while he was desperately longing for 
the sound of hers. 

He recalled the feverish hope that had sprung to life 
in his heart when Thornton joined the Netherbys for 
their voyage in the Titania^ leaving England for a 
year or two, to his certain knowledge, without having 
seen S^^bil. He had rushed abroad then, resolved to 
find her and put his hopes to the test, learning indi- 
rectly, after two or three weeks of blind searchings, 
that she and Lorrie had been in England since a few 
days after the Netherbys sailed^ He had stayed on in 
Florence, where the news reached him, nursing a friend, 
whom he found dying inches, alone and poor, until 
about a month previous to his going to Brindisi to meet 
Nixie. Then followed the coming of Lorrie with the 
astonishing announcement that Nixie’s child, for whose 
safety they were so anxious, was with Sybil at St. 
Clements, and his meeting with Sybil, as if seeing her 
were an every-day matter, and they were the most 
ordinary acquaintances, after those years of separa- 
tion. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


359 


Then for the first time since his hopes had been re- 
awakened by Nixie’s assurances, came the scorching 
recollections of Lorrie’s mention of the photographs in 
Thornton’s possession, and of the suggestion conveyed 
by his manner which he had felt so keenly at the time. 
The fact, too, pressed upon him now, that Sybil herself 
had given his mother the same impression; and he 
paced the room with all his newly-awakened hopes 
dashed to the earth. Why had he hoped? Why should 
he have taken it for granted that because Sybil had 
refused Thornton years before, she had never learned 
to love him since? or had not found, during his ab- 
sence, that she had always loved him? Her illness 
might well have been caused, as his mother had as- 
serted, by hearing the terrible fact of his death, while 
she awaited his coming. 

As he recalled her manner to him at their first meet- 
ing, he asked himself what right he had to dream that 
her truthful eyes meant anything but what they said? 
and what they said must have forever killed hope in 
any soul but that of a vain fool. 

No, he had been too easily moved by his own wishes 
and Nixie’s arguments; and if Sybil lived — ah, that ter- 
rible if! He ceased his pacing up and down as it 
loomed before him, anol for many minutes stood mo- 
tionless and pallid. He could not face the thought of 
life with Sybil dead. Whether he possessed her or not, 
she must live. 

With a face as gray and desolate as the morning, he 
hurried from his room and from the house in the hush 
of that early hour, saddled his horse himself, and rode 
swiftly to St. Austells. 

He passed and repassed the house, looking for he 
could hardly have told what. Once he turned away, 
maddened with the futility of his quest; and when he 


360 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


came back, unable to relinquish it, the doctor’s carriage 
stood at the gates. He kept his horse walking slowly 
to and fro until the doctor appeared, without one 
thought, strange to say, of what construction must be 
put upon his being there. 

A gleam of surprise and then of comprehension shone 
in the doctor’s eyes as they fell on Horman; but he 
greeted him, as he drew up beside the carriage, as if it 
were a thing quite to be expected — meeting him thus. 

“ How is Miss Trevyllian?” Norman asked with rea- 
sonable calmness. 

“ I am sorry to say I cannot report much improvement 
in her"' condition yet,” the doctor replied, “but it is 
rather soon to look for a decided change for the better. 
We may hope much from the capital nursing she gets 
at the hands of that nice maid of hers. She is a won- 
derful person — she carries out my instructions to the 
letter, and seems incapable of fatigue. It is worth 
everything to have some one to nurse her that she is 
accustomed to, and that is so devoted.” 

“ Lady Netherby might relieve Caroline, so that she 
might get a little sleep in the course of the day, per- 
haps,” Norman suggested, his eyes alone showing more 
than an ordinary interest in the matter. 

“Perhaps,” Dr. Percy returned. He saw plainly 
enough that this strong, self-contained man was suffer- 
ing as only such a man can; and he was far from 
thinking that his sister was the person to be admitted 
to share the cares of the sick-room when his patient 
needed to be guarded from every possible excitement ; 
“ but we shall see, ” he added cheerfully, without any 
perceptible pause : “ we can tell better later on. I shall 
see Miss Trevyllian again in the course of the morning.” 

Norman lifted his hat and rode away, and the doctor 
entered his carriage, saying to himself, “Is this the 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


361 


best of all possible worlds? Well, I’ll do my best to 
cure her, and then— we shall see.” 

Norman breakfasted with his father and Nixie, though 
it was rather a pretence with them all, and it was ar- 
ranged between Nixie and her father that she and 
Norman should drive to St. Austells, and that if she 
could be of any use or comfort to Sybil, she should 
spend the day. 

When she and Norman were on their way, Nixie 
said, “ Mamma thinks it very improper for me to go to 
St. Austells like this — she says people will talk.” 

“ If they do — let them, ” was Norman’s answer. “ But 
they won’t. ” 

“That is what I feel,” said Nixie eagerly, and after 
a pause — “You don’t think Lorrie cares about me now, 
do you?” she asked gravely. 

“ No ! I am quite sure he does not, except as an old 
friend and playmate,” Norman replied unhesitatingly. 
“ I believe him to be in love with Lynette Graham, ” he 
added in rather an amused tone. 

“Oh, really!” cried Nixie. Could anything be 
nicer than that?” 

“ Of course it is only a suspicion. I have only tri- 
fles lighter than air to build my belief upon, such as 
sudden flushes and starts, and lights in the eyes when 
her name is mentioned; but I should be very much 
surprised to know that he is not in love with her.” 

“ I do hope he is, and that she returns it, and that 
Cousin James will make no objection.” 

“Why should he?” Norman responded. 

“ What would mamma say !” exclaimed Nixie with 
a little shake of her head. 

The gates were open when they reached St. Austells, 
and they drove in. “I will wait here,” Norman said 
at the door. 


362 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“I will come and tell you myself,” Nixie answered, 
when Kifton appeared. 

The time seemed cruelly long until Nixie came back. 
Lorrie was with her, looking ill and wretched. He 
gave his hand to Norman, not trusting himself to speak, 
and Nixie said sadly, in answer to Norman’s question- 
ing eyes: “She is much the same, but the doctor is 
coming again soon, and Dr. Morehead is to see her 
with him this afternoon.” 

They stood in the portico in mournful silence, un- 
mindful of the leaden skies and dripping leaves, so in 
keeping with the heaviness of their hearts, until Nor- 
man, feeling that he was detaining Lorrie and Nixie, 
turned to go with such a look in his eyes that Nixie’s 
heart was torn with pity. “ Is there anything Norman 
could do?” she asked of Lorrie, “any errands in town 
or a^(?/thing? I am sure he w^ould be glad to be useful.” 

“ There are some things to be got at the chemist’s, but 
Kifton is just going for them.” 

“Let me go,” said Norman quickly; “the horses are 
fresh. I could be back sooner than Kifton.” 

“Very well, thank you so much,” Lorrie answered, 
and Norman received his commissions and drove away, 
thankful to be doing something, however trifling, and 
to have an excuse for coming back. 

It was the first time Nixie had been at St. Austells 
since the day she and her mother had called to say 
good-by to Sybil, before going abroad three years ago. 
What a lifetime it seemed to her, as she entered the 
library with Lorrie and looked about the familiar room. 
It was as if she had seen it in some vivid dream, or in 
some past, so far away as to have grown dim and like 
a dream. What happiness and what sorrow had been 
crowded into the years between then and now, and how 
shadowy and unsatisfying life seemed with all its hopes 
and joys. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 


Never her lips would unclose, 

Though on the rack she had lain 
Bound, till in sight of her pain 
Death must needs interpose. 

But now. . . . 

—R. H. 

^ ^ think I could see her, Lorrie?” Nixie asked, 

L/ becoming conscious of the present and of her de- 
sire to be useful. “ I thought, perhaps, I might stay 
with her while Caroline took a little. rest.” 

“ I should think you might — Caroline must be tired ; 
if she were to give out I don’t know what we should do.” 

“ She will not give out, never fear,” said Nixie cheer- 
ingly. “ She is strong, and people who are not strong 
can endure a great deal in an emergency, with love to 
nerve them. Do you think Sybil suffers?” she asked, 
feeling that it would be a relief to Lorrie to talk of her. 

“Yes,” he sighed, resting his elbows on the table 
and his head in his hands. “ When she is not in that 
unconscious state that is so terrible, she moves her head 
from side to side and moans ; it is perfectly dreadful to 
see and hear.” 

“Poor Sybil!” sighed Nixie. “But she will soon be- 
gin to get better, I feel sure. It is the fever that makes 
her head so bad, and as soon as that lessens she will be 
relieved. You mustn’t worry more than you can help, 
dear Lorrie,” she said, feeling how vain her remon- 
strance was. “Does she look very ill?” 

363 


364 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ Fearfully. You never would believe that one day 
and two nights could make such a change. It seems 
like months.” 

“Indeed it does!” Nixie returned sadly. “Do you 
think I might go to her door now?” she asked, “and if 
Caroline opened it, speak to her about staying with 
Sybil for a little while?” 

“Yes, I think you might. I will come with you.” 

They stood outside Sybil’s room for a moment, hear- 
ing no sound from within. “Perhaps she is asleep,” 
whispered Nixie hopefully. Lorrie shook his head, and 
presently he put his hand on the knob, turning it softly, 
and Caroline came quickly, as he knew she would. 
She looked surprised, and xiot altogether pleased, when 
she saw Nixie. 

“ How is she now?” asked Lorrie in a whisper. 

“Much the same, sir,” Caroline replied. 

“ Is she asleep?” 

“No, my lady; she hasn’t slept to-day,” Caroline 
answered gravely. 

“ Could I stay with her and let you have a little rest? 
I could call you if she wanted anything.” 

“No, my lady; I’m not at all tired, and I couldn’t 
think of leaving her,” Caroline replied, making a move- 
ment as if to shut the door. But Nixie, facing the 
room, saw what made her heart stand still. It was 
Sybil, leaning forward and gazing at them with wildly 
dilated eyes, and a face so white and stricken that Nixie 
felt she could never forget it., Caroline turned quickly, 
having caught Nixie’s terrified look, and was at the 
bedside in an instant, while Sybil’s sharp cry rang out 
with fearful distinctness. 

“Caroline! who is that? who is that? Is it Nor- 
man?” The last words were uttered in a shrill whisper, 
as if to herself, but were perfectly audible to Lorrie 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


365 


and Nixie. They saw, too, that she leaned eagerly for- 
ward, resisting Caroline’s gentle efforts to place her 
back upon the pillows, that she might keep her strained 
gaze upon the door. “ Oh, no, no, no !” she moaned, as 
Lorrie hurried toward her, “it isnH Norman — why — I* 
saw his ship go down in the storm — how could I for- 
get! And did you know, papa,” she said in a voice 
that chilled their hearts, suddenly turning her head as 
if to speak to some one on the other side of the bed — “ I 
went to his funeral, never knowing whose it was ! could 
anything be more terrible?” The wailing sob that fol- 
lowed her words was suddenly hushed, and she sat 
upright, in spite of Caroline’s efforts to quiet her, gazing 
wildly about her for a moment. “No — no — no,” she 
moaned, “papa isn’t there. I can’t see him anywhere. 
He is gone too, and there is no one to comfort me.” 
With a pitiful cry she loosed her hold of Caroline’s 
arm, that she had grasped in her frenzy, and fell back 
unconscious. 

Lorrie, having seen what Caroline did at such times 
to restore her, was able to help, while Nixie could only 
stand by with hands clasped, silently imploring that 
Sybil might be spared for Norman’s sake and for all 
their sakes. Lorrie could have no thought for anything 
behind or beyond that death-like moment. 

What an endless time it seemed to them all before 
the faint, fluttering breath came again, with a sigh as 
of regret at the return to life. Then Caroline made an 
imperative sign to Lorrie and Nixie, and they stole 
noiselessly away ; but they stayed in the outer room, 
listening breathlessly, thankful when, at last, they heard 
a faint response from Sybil to Caroline’s cheerful tones. 

As she could be of no use, it seemed best for Nixie 
to return home with Norman, when he came with the 
medicines ; but she felt she could not go without asking 


366 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


the question that weighed in her heart. Was there 
any ground for Sybil’s feverish fancy — had she thought 
at any time that Norman was in the shipwreck? 

“I — really don’t know,” was Lorrie’s answer, and no 
•more was said. 

But in the long, lonely hours that followed, Lorrie, 
already overburdened with troubling thoughts, was 
tortured with the ever-recurring question — “ Was there 
any cause for her delirious fancy?” 

At first he was able to satisfy himself in a degree, by 
asserting that such fancies need have no suggestion in 
reality — that it was useless to try to account for the 
vagaries of a poor, fever-tossed brain. But as the 
events of the last few days recurred to him, in all the 
vividness that is sometimes the result of overtaxed 
nerves, it became perfectly clear that it was not Dr. 
Thornton whom Sybil believed to have perished in the 
wreck, and that certainty solved every other mystery. 
Sybil’s unwillingness to accept Mr. Hargreave’s invita- 
tion, her illness on reaching London and seeing Nor- 
man, her reserved manner toward him — for had she 
not found that she loved him without knowing that he 
loved her? “ As he does — as he mustr he cried, start- 
ing up from his long revery. “ Poor child ! poor child ! 
no wonder her strength gave out at last, with all she 
has had to bear — from me, most of all ! But 0 God ! 
have pity, and let her live and be happy now!” he 
prayed, with bowed head and hot tears. 


CHAPTER XLIX. 


I tell you, friends, had you heard his wail 
’Twould haunt you. 


— Mrs. Browning. 



ADY SARA felt even in clasping her daughter to 


1j her heart on arriving from Eden Wyck, that she 
was not the childlike, yielding Audley from whom she 
had parted not two years before; and she had been 
compelled to admit to herself, in considering the change, 
that there must always have existed a phase in Xixie’s 
character that she had never suspected, with all her 
penetration. Yet her quiet self-assertion that morning 
in persisting in going to nurse Sybil, in spite of her 
almost angry remonstrances, had taken her as much 
by surprise as if it had not occurred to her before that 
she was no longer a child to -be reproved and controlled 
as of old. However, after the first bitterness had 
passed, she was not long in acknowledging that her 
daughter had shown herself peculiarly fitted for her 
brilliant lot in life. The Countess of Netherby, young 
and beautiful, with a house in town and an estate in 
the north, and a son and heir, had need of self-assertion 
and the courage of her opinions; and Lady Sara’s 
wounded feelings solaced themselves with the perfect 
results of her training. 

Then she thought if Xorman would marry Lynette 
Graham — with the handsome fortune she had inherited 
from her maternal grandfather — she should, after all. 


368 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


feel herself amply rewarded for all her unexampled de- 
votion to her children. 

An unwelcome vision of Sybil Trevyllian rose before 
her at this point of her meditations. “If only Dr. 
Thornton were alive, and would marry her as soon as 
she recovers, and take her to India! hut perhaps ” 

The ground of her strangely acrimonious feelings 
toward Lorrie and Sybil was probably one of the many 
secrets she had from herself. She had never been able to 
forgive their father for having married Gwendolen Leigh 
instead of Lady Sara Cartwright. I^o one could have 
been more surprised than Mr. Trevyllian himself, if it 
had come to his knowledge that she had ever entertained 
such a hope, or wish, even ; and the emotion that prompt- 
ed the hope died a quiet death after his engagement, 
and before her own marriage with Mr. Hargreave. But 
the secret resentment for that wound to her pride smoul- 
dered on, bursting into little flames only when Lorrie 
or Sybil seemed in danger of frustrating her plans for 
her own son and daughter. She was too wise to try to 
interfere with the life-long friendship between the two 
families ; but when it came to marriage, she desired to 
draw the line; and she found ample reasons for her 
aversion to such an alliance, without prjung into the 
secret chambers where the fires of resentment were 
smouldering. 

She emerged from her room on this occasion at 
lunch-time, possessed by that sweet reasonableness on 
which she prided herself, with no sign in face or bear- 
ing of the wound her heart had received. The white 
Spanish lace, so gracefully disposed about her head, 
suggested neuralgia, but she did not complain. 

Her husband was greatly relieved at hearing no 
strictures during their tete-a-tete lunch on Nixie’s hav- 
ing gone to St. Austells ; and Nixie herself was touched 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


369 


by her mother’s kind manner to her, when she returned 
with Norman, and her inquiries in regard to Sybil 
were all that could be desired. If she had not repented 
of her cruel thought she had at least covered it with a 
veil that is quite as effectual in hiding sins as charity ; 
and it is probable that she was conscious of nothing 
but “ sweetness and light” in all the recesses of her soul. 

Mrs. Norcliffe had hurried back to England the mo- 
ment she heard of Sybil’s illness, and installed herself 
as Caroline’s assistant in the sick-room. It would have 
been a sore trial to Caroline to have any one else to 
share her loving cares; but her somewhat exclusive 
affections took in Mrs. Norcliffe, the only sister of 
Sybil’s mother; and when she saw that there was not 
even the wish to usurp her place as nurse-in-chief, and 
that her tender and skilful touch and cheer}^ presence 
were soothing to Sybil, and her help was given just 
where and when it was needed, she took great comfort 
in having her at hand. She was thankful, too, to feel 
that Lorrie was less desolate in his banishment from 
Sybil’s room, since his aunt had practically taken up 
her abode at St. Austells. She was very sure to look 
after him, Caroline knew, while, for the time, her 
own thoughts and cares were given chiefly to Sybil. 

There came a day at length, when the chances be- 
tween life and death were so evenly balanced that a 
breath might decide against life. 

Lorrie sat mutely wretched in the outer room, neither 
eating nor sleeping for many hours. Mrs. Norcliffe 
and Caroline kept breathless watch by the bedside. 
Mr. Norcliffe had come from town for the night at his 
wife’s summons. More waited to carry late news to 
Portman Square: 

No one saw anything of Norman — only Nixie knew 
that he was alone somewhere with his despair. 

24 


370 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


When, at nine o’clock, More was sent with a hasty 
line from Mr. Nor cliff e, to say that “No change ” was 
the doctor’s latest report, and he was to spend the night 
at St. Austells, he was startled at meeting what in the 
dim light looked like the ghost of his young master 
just outside the gates. Norman stopped him to ask 
what message he was taking. On reading Mr. Nor- 
cliffe’s unsealed note by the light of the gate lamps, he 
staggered as if he had been struck, but quickly re- 
covered himself. 

“Thank you. More,” he said, and More hastened on, 
like a wise and faithful servant as he was, keeping his 
wonder and conclusions to himself. 

“ What has become of Norman?” asked Mr. Har- 
greave, as he and Lady Sara and Nixie sat down to 
dinner. “I haven’t seen him to-day.” 

“ I saw him for a moment this morning,” Lady Sara 
said, “ and I thought him looking very seedy. I tried 
to persuade him to join the Grahams in Caithness. I 
am certain it would do him a world of good, but he 
didn’t seem to think my proposal worth considering.” 

“ I am glad of it,” her husband responded. “ I want 
especially to have him attend to some important busi- 
ness for me. I should be sorry to have him go off just 
now.” 

Lady Sara shrugged her shoulders. “You may pos- 
sibly be able to rouse his interest in matters of busi- 
ness, but as to anything ehe — hardly a word or a look 
implying that he has even heard the sound of my voice 
have I been able to win from him for days, and exceed- 
ingly aggravating it is.” 

Norman did not come home until after midnight, but 
Nixie was on the watch for him. He kissed her as she 
met him at the top of the stairs and hurried on to his 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


371 


room without having spoken or given her time to 
speak. 

When the servant went to call him in the morning 
he was not in his room, and his bed had not been dis- 
turbed. 

“Poor Norman,” Nixie said to herself when she 
heard this at breakfast. 

“ Can he have gone out of town without saying any- 
thing to anybody?” queried Mr. Hargreave, very much 
puzzled at his son’s unusual behavior. 

“It isn’t like him, is it?” Nixie replied, but she 
offered no suggestion and the subject was dropped. 

Later on, as Mr. Hargreave was coming from his 
wife’s boudoir, he met Norman in the corridor. “ Ah, 
here you are, ” he said, turning about and leading the 
way to Norman’s room. “ I want to have a little talk 
with you as to — my dear boy, are you ill? what is the 
matter?” he asked anxiously, as his eyes fell on Nor- 
man’s pale, haggard face. 

“No, I’m not ill,” Norman replied wearily. 

“For God’s sake, then, tell me what it is,” urged Mr. 
Hargreave, feeling rhore and more troubled, as he met 
Norman’s despairing eyes. 

Norman turned away from his father while he asked 
in a hollow voice, “ Have you heard from St. Austells 
this morning?” 

Mr. Hargreave did not answer at once — he was too 
wonder-struck at the suggestion forced upon him by 
Norman’s manner and question, and Norman turned to 
him sharply. 

“ Can you tell me -nothing?” he demanded almost 
fiercely. 

“ I haven’t heard yet this morning, my son, but ” 

“ For heaven’s sake, find out. I could see no one to 


372 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ask — 0 God ! this suspense is maddening. ” He sank 
into a chair, leaning his head in his hands, while tear- 
less sobs shook his strong frame. It was terrible to see. 

“ I will go at once to the doctor and inquire. ” 

“No, no! I stopped there — he isn’t at home. Will 
you go to St. Austells yourself, father?” he asked, lift- 
ing a white, desperate face ; “ you could go in and find 
some one to ask.” 

“I will go instantly,” Mr. Hargreave replied, laying 
a hand heavily on Norman’s shoulder. “ But, my son, 
do you care like this?” 

Norman groaned, dropping his head in his hands 
again. “ Care like this?” he muttered. 

“ God help you, my dear boy !” ejaculated Mr. Har- 
greave. “ I won’t lose a moment.” 

He hurried away, stopping at the nursery door to 
summon Nixie and send her to Norman. “ Did you 
know that he loves Sybil?” he asked huskily, as she 
stood beside him. 

“Yes, papa, I did.” 

“ God grant that she may be spared to him — to us 
all!” Mr. Hargreave ejaculated solemnly. “I’m going 
to ride to St. Austells for the news of her,” he added, 
as the servant answered the bell. 

“Norman had better go with you, papa; he can w^ait 
outside ; it will be far better for him than waiting here,” 
Nixie said, and her father gave orders to have the dog- 
cart brought round at once. 

“ He will be ill ; he has had no breakfast, I am sure ; 
he looks utterly exhausted,” Mr. Hargreave said, as 
Norman’s haggard face came before him. 

“ I will see that he has something. I am sure it is 
better for him to go with you.” Nixie hurried down 
stairs to make sure that her orders were quickly obeyed 
and then went to Norman’s room. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


373 


By the time the cart was at the door Norman had 
had a cup of strong tea and a sandwich, and was 
thankful to accompany his father. 

With what feelings he drew near St. Austells — how 
his eager yet shrinking eyes sought for some sign of what 
waited him — who shall say? 


CHAPTER L. 


Who knows whither the clouds have fled? 

In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake. 

And the eyes forget the tears they have shed, 

The heart forgets its sorrow and ache. 

— Loivell. 

^ ^ rpHE danger is past. She will get well !” was Mr. 

J_ Hargreave’s glad announcement when he came 
hurrying back to Norman, after a brief absence. 

“ I saw the doctor,” he went on, taking the reins from 
his son’s hand, with a furtive glance of sympathy at 
the face that was pale and stern with the effort to con- 
trol the sudden rush of joy that almost unmanned him. 
“ He says she will improve steadily now. She is sleep- 
ing like a child at this moment, and has been for more 
than two hours, and that is the best possible sign. The 
change for the better came on about four o’clock this 
morning.” Then, with a tact that Lady Sara would 
hardly have given him credit for, he became absorbed 
in the business of driving the fresh young cob, and left 
Norman to his own thoughts. 

From that day Sybil’s progress toward recovery was 
unbroken, though so slow that only her watchful nurses 
and the doctor could perceive it from day to day — so 
slow that it was a fortnight before Lorrie, even, could 
do more than sit beside her, without talking, for a few 
minutes at a time. But at the end of a month from 
the crisis she was carried down to the library in the 
afternoon for a couple of hours. 

374 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


375 


Lady Sara and Nixie called just after she was settled 
on the couch, where she could look out into the garden, 
but they were not allowed to see her. Mrs. Norcliffe 
had gone to Suffolk Place to look after her “ poor dear 
John,” and only Lorrie saw them. 

“Lorrance looks very thin and hollow-eyed,” Lady 
Sara remarked as they drove away. 

“Yes, naturally, after such weeks of anxiety, but he 
looks very happy, and no wonder,” was Nixie’s reply. 

“Lorrie, dear, come to me,” Sybil said, as Lorrie 
returned to the library, holding out a shadowy hand, 
and watching him with loving eyes as he came. 

He took the shadowy hand in both his own, gazing 
down into the thin, white face, and into the eyes so 
preternaturally large and bright, with a choking sensa- 
tion in his throat. She looked so much frailer and 
more wasted than she had in her own room. 

“You must give me time, dear,” she said, her voice 
still sadly weak, answering the look in his eyes. “ I 
am not to be hurried about getting well. I mean to be 
a long time about it and to enjoy the process.” 

“ You shall -have your own way and not be teased 
about any mortal thing,” Lorrie said, drawing up a 
low chair beside her, keeping her hand in his. 

“Now,” she said, settling herself comfortably, with 
her free hand under her cheek, “I want to hear of 
everything that has happened since I have been ill. 
I’m not to be teased, you know,” she added, as Lorrie 
shook his head doubtfully, “ and it will do me good to 
be told, for I have seen in your face lately that some- 
thing nice has happened. I think it has been very 
good of me not to ask a lot of questions long ago. ” 

There was an eager flush in her cheeks, and a quick- 
ening of the breath; and Lorrie said at once, “Yes, 
something nice has happened.” He laid the thin. 


376 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


transparent hand out on his palm, and stroked it softly 
with smiling eyes. 

“ Tell me — tell me !” was the eager command. 

“Well, one day ” 

“ How long ago?” 

“ A week and three days. ” 

“After I began to get well, then.” 

“ Yes, luckily ! I was out there in the garden, loung- 
ing under the cedar, very happy about you, but dread- 
fully down about everything else, when I heard a 
familiar voice ” 

“ Whose?” Sybil asked quickly. 

“Clive’s, dear! You see you oblige me to startle 
you,” Lorrie said, troubled at seeing Sybil grow white, 
and then flushed again. 

“Ho matter — it’s only suspense that hurts. Goon! 
tell me everything.” 

“Well, the ‘nice boy’” — Sybil laughed, and it was 
music to Lorrie ’s ears — “ was just as nice as ever, was 
himself, in fact. First of all, he asked about you, and 
said how Lynette and he had grieved over your being 
ill, though they hadn’t known how ill you were.” 

“ How came he to be in town before October?” Sybil 
asked. 

“ He came with his father, who came on business, 
and he let Clive come with him because the poor boy 
was so horribly bored where they were staying at the 
time ; and Clive, being left to his own devices the day 
after they came to town, decided, as he expressed it, to 
‘seize the occasion by the hairs’ ” — Sybil laughed again 
— “ and come and see me ; of course, he didn’t expect 
to see you yet.” 

“And what happened then?” asked Sybil eagerly. 

“ I wrote to Colonel Graham, asking him to let me 
call upon him, and I had an answer the next morning. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAK 


377 


setting a time for me to come ; and I went, and it was 
all settled before I came away, and — we are engaged !” 

“ How perfectly lovely ! I am so glad !” 

“ It doesn’t look like it,” Lorrie said ruefully, as the 
tears gathered and fell fast down Sybil’s thin cheeks. 

“It is mere weakness of mind,” she sobbed, with a 
smile like summer sunshine amid summer showers. 
“ Have you written to her?” 

“Only nine times,” answered Lorrie demurely. 

“ And heard from her?” 

“ Only seven times, but I have endless loves and mes- 
sages for you — so many that I almost wonder I am not 
jealous. There were some kisses, too, but those I kept 
for myself, as I hadn’t had any !” 

“ Greedy boy !” responded Sybil. 

“ Clive told me — not in his first visit — he was aston- 
ishingly discreet then — that Lynette was growing so 
pale and sad-eyed that he was sure his father was un- 
happy about her; and he firmly believed, ‘between 
ourselves and the cedar tree’ as he said, that it was her 
pale face and nothing else that made him think he had 
business in London ; and that he brought him, Clive, 
along to pave the way for an interview.” 

“ Audacious Clive !” laughed Sybil. “ What is Col- 
onel Graham like?” 

“ He is a soldierly Mr. Hargreave — the same frank, 
genial manners, with a military bearing. Clive looks 
like him — as he must have looked when he was Clive’s 
age.” 

“ How did they hear that I was ill?” asked Sybil. 

“ I mentioned it in my letter.” 

“ What letter?” 

“ My answer to Colonel Graham’s.” 

“ Oh, of course !” 

“ Over which I behaved like such a lunatic. I tried 


378 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


to write a letter that you would approve, and I must 
have succeeded pretty well, for Colonel Graham spoke 
of finding us both so reasonable! Certainly, nothing 
could have been kinder than his manner all through the 
interview.” 

“ Have they gone back to Scotland?” 

“ Oh, yes ; they went the day after I saw them. They 
will all be back in town in a fortnight, I am happy to 
say. By that time you will be well enough to see them, 
won’t you?” 

“I should think so, indeed! I could see my little 
Linnet this moment. But how is it that they are com- 
ing back so soon? I thought they were to be away 
until October.” 

“That will be October, dear child,” Lorrie replied; 
“this is the 28th of September.” A sudden light of 
remembrance shone in his eyes, and he seemed on the 
point of saying something more, but thought better of it. 

“Is it the 28th?” Sybil answered dreamily, turning 
her head slightly to look out into the garden. 

“ It is six weeks to-day since you were to have gone 
to St. Clements, and were so ill instead, poor darling !” 

“ I should have thought it might be a year or two, ” 
Sybil said listlessly, but she quickly rallied. “Does 
Lady Sara know about you and Lynette?” she asked. 

“ Yes. She congratulated me just now, and wounrl up 
with a very characteristic speech : was suck a sur- 

prise to us all — you can’t think ! It seems only yester- 
day that she was a child, climbing trees and hunting 
birds ’-nests with Clive, with no more thought of love 
and marriage than a child of two — indeed, that was 
only last summer — but some natures do develop sud- 
denly. ’ ” Lorrie imitated Lady Sara’s enunciation and 
manner so perfectly that Sybil laughed in spite of her 
indignation. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


379 


“What did you say?” she asked. 

“Oh, I smiled benignly, and thanked her for her 
good wishes. I felt I could afford to be magnanimous, 
for I knew that, like Mr. Brownlow, she was ready to 
eat her head with vexation. Nixie was as thoroughly 
nice as Lady Sara was the other thing; and when I 
saw Mr. Hargreave yesterday he was kindness itself.” 

There fell a silence then that was broken by Caroline’s 
appearing with a bouquet in her hand, which she held 
up before Sybil. 

“Scrumptious, aren’t they?” said Lorrie, gazing ad- 
miringly at the great bunch of half-blown, delicate- 
tinted roses, with the perfect green of their own foliage. 
“ Where did it come from, Caroline?” 

“It came from the florist’s, sir,” Caroline replied; 
“there wasn’t any card or message.” 

“Very kind of somebody,” Lorrie said. “Shall we 
put them in water?” Sybil had not offered to take 
them from Caroline, and had not spoken. 

“Yes, do, please,” she answered, turning from them 
as if they gave her pain rather than pleasure. 

Lorrie looked at her wonderingly. He could not 
know that the bouquet was exactly like one Norman had 
given her on her eighteenth birthday, just six years 
ago, and ihat the roses in all their beauty seemed to 
her fever-tired brain like ghosts of those so well remem- 
bered in the happy past. 

“ The perfume makes her faint,” said Lorrie in alarm, 
as her eyes closed and her cheeks and lips grew white. 

Caroline gave the roses to Lorrie, who took them 
hurriedly out of the room, coming back anxious and 
fearful. But Sybil’s eyes had already opened, and she 
smiled into their anxious faces. 

“I can’t be very strong yet, can I? if I’m not able 
to bear the smell of roses.” 


CHAPTER LI. 


Could love part thus? Was it not well to speak? 

To have spoken once? . 

— Tennyson. 

l\/rY dear Sybil! see what I found, wasting their 

IVJL sweetness on the desert air of the drawing- 
room!” cried Mrs. Norcliffe, as she entered Sybil’s room 
the next morning, her gloves and parasol in one hand 
and the banished roses in the other. “ Who could have 
been so cruel as to put these heavenly things where no 
one could see or smell them? Was it you, nurse?” she 
asked, as Caroline went calmly on with her dusting, 
apparently paying no heed to what was being said. 

“ Mr. Lorrie put them in the drawing-room, ma’am, 
when they came yesterday afternoon, because the per- 
fume made Miss Sybil faint,” Caroline answered dryly 
— she had so carefully avoided any reference to the 
flowers herself ! 

‘‘ Oh, really, my poor dear child, you are still terribly 
weak, are you not?” exclaimed Mrs. Norcliffe, turning 
to Sybil. Sybil’s eyes were resting on Barty, stretched 
at full length beside her on the bed. “ I will take them 
away again instantly, but I warn you, I shall carry 
them home with me to-night ; their beauty shall not be 
wasted.” 

“ Please, Aunt Helen ” 

Mrs. Norcliffe paused as she was leaving the room 
with her nose buried among the roses. “Well, dear?” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


381 


“ Don’t take them away — I am not afraid of them 
now; I am stronger to-day.” 

“Are you quite sure? I will put them here, then,” 
and Mrs. Norcliffe placed the roses on a stand beside 
the bed and stood to admire them, while she took off 
her bonnet. “I suppose they came from Portman 
Square; from Lady Sara, maybe,” she added, with a 
little grimace. “ How are you feeling to-day, darling?” 

“Oh, better, thank you. I am going to get up pres- 
ently and be properly dressed, and have lunch with you 
downstairs, and take a little walk in the garden, 
and ” 

“ Oh, oh ! that will do for one day !” cried her aunt ; 
“don’t you think so. Nurse Caroline?” 

“ Indeed, I don’t think it will do at all,” replied Car- 
oline gravely. “ She may be dressed and have her lunch 
with you, if you wouldn’t mind having yours up here, 
ma’am, and then she might, perhaps, sit out in the 
garden a little while. I am sure the doctor wouldn’t 
appro v^e of her doing more than that, if as much.” 

“ It sounds very reasonable and very nice, don’t you 
think so, dear patient?” said Mrs. Norcliffe. 

“Yes; but when may I go for a drive?” asked Sybil 
wistfully. 

“For a drive! You are to make haste slowly, the 
doctor said, and I should think if you went for a drive 
in another week it would be doing wonders.” 

“ Oh ! in another week I want to be at St. Clements. 
I do, I do,” cried Sybil, clasping her hands in playful 
entreaty, as her aunt looked at her in open-eyed aston- 
ishment, and Caroline paused in her polishing of the 
looking-glass to gaze anxiously at the reflection of her 
wan face. “ If you wish me to get well fast, you must 
let me go,” pleaded Sybil; “people always have a 
change when they begin to get up from an illness.” 


382 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


‘‘Of course they do; but why St. Clements, of all 
places in the world, dear child?” 

“You went there, auntie, after you were ill, and 
thought it did you no end of good. ” 

“ Yes, I know, and I feel duly grateful ; and if I didn’t 
feel certain that the Isle of Wight, or even dear old 
Hastings, so handy and comfortable, would do quite as 
much for you as St. Clements did for me, I would gladly 
sacrifice myself and take you there, although I would 
rather go to the north pole than brave the concentrated 
horrors of that short passage again.” 

Sybil laughed. “I didn’t once dream of your going 
with me,” she said. “You have devoted yourself to 
me and neglected poor Uncle John quite long enough. 
I only thought of victimizing Caroline.” 

“ Wherever you go I shall go with you, my child. I 
should worry about you to that degree if you went away 
without me — it would be as bad as going to St. Clem- 
ents. Oh, no; we will run down to Hastings as soon 
as the doctor gives us leave, and it will set you up 
beautifully. If Lorrie could go with you it would he 
another matter ; but John says he must keep at his work 
steadily, now he has begun.” 

“Yes, indeed, he must!” 

Caroline’s programme for the day was carried out, 
and proved to be as much as Sybil’s strength was equal 
to, but she was all the better for her first “ outing, ” as 
her aunt called her sitting in the garden for an hour 
after lunch, with plenty of wraps. 

A day or two later Nixie called with her little sea- 
king, and Sybil was able to see them. The child had 
been wild with delight when he heard where they were 
going, and it had been difficult to keep his excitement 
within bounds during the drive. But he entered the 
library where Sybil was as quietly as if he had expected 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 383 

to see a room full of strangers, only the sudden glow in 
his cheeks and in the blue eyes, when he saw Sybil with 
her arms held out for him, showing the commotion in 
his loving little heart. 

“My darling little sea-king!” Sybil held him close, 
and he put his arms gently but tightly around her neck. 

Nixie’s lips quivered when she embraced Sybil, 
thinking of the last time she had seen her. Fortunately 
for Sybil she had not the faintest knowledge of that 
betrayal of her secret, arid never again during her ill- 
ness had she uttered a word that would even have 
aroused suspicions that she had a secret to betray. This 
had been an immense relief to Caroline, while Mrs. 
Norcliffe was sharing the nursing. 

“ Is oo q’ite well now?” asked little Jack, loosing his 
arms from Sybil’s neck and looking up into her face 
with a very serious expression in his own. 

“ Almost quite, my pet. I shall soon be well enough 
for some grand games in the garden,” Sybil answered, 
holding the little hands and smiling back into the ear- 
nest eyes. 

“Could 00 hold me in oo’s lap?” he asked gently. 
“ I would sit velly still — I not a velly big boy.” 

“Oh, no, darling!” cried Nixie, as Sybil would have 
lifted him to her* knee; “Sybil isn’t strong enough for 
it yet — you must wait.” 

“See, dear, who is this?” Sybil exclaimed, directing 
the child’s attention to the door leading into the gar- 
den ; “ somebody is looking for his little friend, I think. ” 

“ I see!” cried little Jack with a gleeful laugh, as he 
espied Don’s black head peering in at the open door, 
his tufted tail wagging wildly outside. When he ran 
toward him Don’s eagerness to greet his little friend 
got the better of his manners, and with a yelp of de- 
light he flew to meet him, and rolled him over on the 


384 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


floor, to the great amusement of the lookers-on and of 
little Jack himself, who quickly scrambled to his feet, 
and throwing his arms around Don’s neck, laid his 
golden curls among the black ones. “ Dear old Don ! 
I does love oo,” he said fervently; and Don wagged 
not only his tail, but his whole big body, and uttered 
short barks expressive of his feelings for little Jack, 
embracing the first opportunity to bestow several kisses 
on the beloved face. 

“ Is Tommy out in the garden?” the child asked pres- 
ently, when the first rapture of meeting was over. 

“No! poor Tommy isn’t here, darling; we left him 
behind; but I am sure everybody is very kind to him.” 

“He not velly happy, I fyaid,” said little Jack, shak- 
in his head dismally; “he not got his fyends. Send 
for poor Tommy, will oo?” he said earnestly, coming to 
Sybil’s side and putting his hand in hers. 

“Wouldn’t some other donkey do?” asked Mrs. Nor- 
cliffe, much amused ; “ there are plenty of nice donkeys 
on the Heath that you could ride.” 

The child looked at her in surprise. “ I not fyends 
with any but Tommy. Tommy and I love ourselfs.’^ 

“Each other, you mean,” suggested Nixie. 

“ Yes, I love Tommy and he loves me, and Tommy 
must come and live with his fyends.” 

Sybil and little Jack then talked busily of Sancho 
and Bobbie, and other matters of interest to themselves, 
Don receiving a due amount of attention, while Mrs. 
Norcliffe asked : 

“When did you return from Eden Wyck, Lady 
Netherby?” 

“I have not been to Eden Wyck yet,” Nixie replied. 
“I waited, hoping,” she said, smiling and nodding at 
Sybil, “to take her with me when I went. You must 
come, Sybil,” she added eagerly. “Do say you will— 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


• 385 


we can be out of doors all day long while the weather 
is like this, and have blazing fires if it gets chilly. I 
am sure it would do you worlds of good.” 

“It is sweet of you to propose it, Nixie dear,” Sybil 
answered, “ and I am afraid it will .seem very ungrate- 
ful of me ; but — I do long for the sea ; I feel as if noth- 
ing could make me strong but sea-breezes, and Aunt 
Helen has promised to take me to Hastings, when the 
doctor says I may go. Come with us. Nixie!” she 
cried eagerly; “you and little Jack! Wouldn’t the sea 
suit you as well as Eden Wyck?” 

“lam sure it would; I should like it very much,” 
Nixie replied, after a moment’s hesitation, “if Mrs. 
Norcliffe will not be dismayed at such an addition to 
her party,” she added, with an appealing smile. 

“It will be a delightful addition,” Mrs. Norcliffe re- 
turned heartily ; “ we shall be charmed, indeed, if you 
will come.” 

“ Thank you so much ! It would be lonely for little 
Jack and me by ourselves, and I am not ready yet to 
go north ; so it will be very nice for Boy and me if 
you will take us with you.” 

Both Sybil and Mrs. Norcliffe wondered sadly, as 
Nixie spoke falteringly of herself and her little son, 
whether the old brightness would ever come back to 
lips and eyes ; if she would ever be really happy again 
— she looked so pathetic and fragile in her widow’s 
dress, with her mournful eyes that often had an expres- 
sion in them as if they were gazing out in dismay over 
the dreary plains of her bereft future stretching before 
her. 

Sybil was hopeful, because Nixie was so brave and 
unselfish. 

“Papa bade me ask when he might come and see 
you,” Nixie said, when, after some discussion of plains, 
25 


386 • 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


she and little Jack were taking their leave. “ He hopes 
you will be well enough to see him very soon.” 

“ Oh, I am quite well enough now, and I should be 
so pleased if he would come.” 

“ Then would Sunday do? I think that would suit 
papa.” 

“Yes, Sunday would do perfectly.” 

“Could you see Yorman, too, on Sunday?” Nixie 
asked, while she busily straightened little Jack’s broad 
frill over his black velvet tunic ; “ or would two visitors 
in one day be too much for you?” 

“Oh, no.” 

“Then I shall tell them they both may come, and 
they will be very pleased. ” 

On the Saturday Sybil took her first drive. The day 
was what all the September days had been, warm and 
sunny, so that Mrs. Norcliffe yielded to her entreaties 
that they might go in the pony-carriage instead of in 
a close one ; and Sybil leaned back among the cushions, 
thoroughly enjoying her release from long imprison- 
ment. 

“ I can hardly remember when I was outside the gates 
before — it seems years since the night I was taken ill,” 
she said, as they turned toward the Heath. 

“The time always seems interminable, when one 
looks back after a severe illness,” her aunt returned. 
“ How deliciously warm it is ! except for the touches 
of brown and yellow in the woods, and the crimson 
glory of the Virginia creepers, and the blue haze over 
the distance, it might really be July.” 

Sybil made no response, for she was conscious of a 
vague sadness that she felt would have told her summer 
had gone and autumn had come, even without these 
reminders. 

Mrs. Norcliffe chatted on, satisfied with an occa- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


387 


sional response from Sybil, who felt the dreamy influ- 
ence of the sunny stillness too much to care to talk 
herself. 

As they turned out of the lane into a broad, quiet 
road, lined with trees and tall bracken, Mrs. Norcliffe 
suddenly exclaimed, “Is not that Mr. Norman Har- 
greave? surely it is!” and Sybil assented, as she saw 
Norman riding slowly toward them from the distance. 
At the same moment he recognized them, and came on 
at a quicker pace. 

“I shall stop — it wouldn’t be friendly not to,” Mrs. 
Norcliffe said, suiting the action to the word, in spite 
of a faint remonstrance from Sybil, by drawing up at 
the road-side. 

Norman dismounted and came to them. “ I am very 
glad that you are well enough to be out driving, ” he 
said, as he shook hands with Sybil. 

“Thanks — I am getting quite strong again,” Sybil 
answered, bending to draw up the carriage rug that 
had slipped down. 

“ This weather is a boon, is it not?” Mrs. Norcliffe 
said, turning her eyes from Norman’s face hastily, 
feeling very much as if she had stolen something and 
that she must do her best to conceal the crime. “ She 
will gain strength so much faster for being out in the 
fresh air every day. I only hope this nice weather 
may last for another month — then we may look to have 
her well before the winter sets in.” 

“I hope it may, indeed,” Norman responded. 

“We intend going to the seaside soon, as no doubt 
you have heard from Lady Netherby; and we are quite 
delighted at the prospect of having her and that most 
charming of little boys for companions.” 

“It will be a great pleasure for Nixie, and do her 
good, I am sure. But I am keeping you,” he added, 


388 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


with a glance at Sybil, and he lifted his hat and with- 
drew from the side of the carriage. 

“Come and have a cup of tea with us, Mr. Har- 
greave, on your way back, will you not? We shall be 
turning homeward very soon — Sybil must not overdo 
it the first time. We shall find Lorrie there, I dare 
say, as it is Saturday — a half-holiday.” 

Mrs. ISTorcliffe’s quick sympathies were so wrought 
upon by the knowledge in her possession, conveyed by 
the look in I^orman’s eyes which she had waylaid, and 
by the fact that Sybil had hardly spoken to him, that 
she could not resist giving the invitation. She felt 
that Sybil’s very reserve ought to have been a warning 
to her not to do it — but never mind ! it was done, she 
said to herself, and no great harm could come of it, 
even if no good came. 

“If I may, I should like to very much,” Norman 
answered, with a look at Sybil, who said lightly, “Yes, 
do come. ” 

“Then I may ride on with you,” Norman said, re- 
mounting and riding at Mrs. Norcliffe’s side of the 
carriage, keeping up a brisk conversation with her in 
spite of the difficulties, thanks to her valiant efforts. 

Once again in the course of the half-hour before they 
reached St. Austells, Mrs. Norcliffe unwittingly way- 
laid a glance from those “grand eyes” that made her 
wonder if it were possible that Sybil could be indifferent 
to the love they revealed, and to such a man as Norman 
Hargreave ! She longed desperately to see what was 
in Sybil’s eyes; but she could not venture to explore, 
lest she should betray her own secret — viz., the posses- 
sion of Norman’s. 


CHAPTER LII. 


my faith is large in Time, 

And tliat which shapes it to some perfect end. 

— Tennyson. 



HEN they reached St. Austells, Lorrie appeared 


at the door with a radiant face, and in evening 


dress. 


“ Well, my dear Lorrie!” cried Mrs. Norcliffe, when 
the carriage had stopped, and he stood meeting their 
astonished gaze with a smile, half amused, and wholly 
contented. “What does it mean? Is it in honor of 
Sybil’s first drive that you are arrayed in evening 
splendors, even to the buttonhole and the smiles?” 

“ The occasion deserves to be celebrated, doesn’t it?” 
Lorrie responded gayly, coming to offer his hand to his 
aunt and Sybil. But Norman was before him; the 
groom had taken his horse, and he was beside the car- 
riage almost before Lorrie had realized his presence. 

“ How are you, Hargreave?” he said. “ Where did 
you pick each other up?” 

“ We met in the Bishop’s avenue,” Mrs. Norcliffe 
replied, as Norman helped her to alight, “and a very 
pleasant encounter it was.” She took Lorrie’s arm 
and drew him into the hall, while Norman waited to 
help Sybil, who needed the support he gave, for she 
swayed slightly as she stepped from the carriage. 

“I cannot find out what it is all about,” Mrs. Nor- 
cliffe cried, with a hopeless gesture, dropping Lorrie’s 
arm when Sybil came leaning on Norman’s, and look- 


389 


390 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


ing very white. She hurried on to the library to get 
ready an easy-chair, but stopped short on reaching the 
door, with an exclamation of surprise. Sybil and Nor- 
man, following closely, saw what had occasioned it. 

“Clive! is it really you?” cried Sybil, as she beheld 
her nice boy standing in the middle of the room. 

“Yes; it really is!” he replied, coming to grasp her 
outstretched hands. “We thought we would let you 
get safely into the house before you saw me, so that 
you shouldn’t be too much overcome by the surprise ! 
Oh, but you do look ill, upon my word,” he said dis- 
mally, as the color his unexpected appearance had given 
her faded; “and I am keeping you standing all this 
time ! What a wretch I am !” He led her to her easy- 
chair, and sat down beside her, quite oblivious of ever}^- 
body else in the room. 

“ I am afraid you can have no recollection of me, Mr. 
Graham,” Mrs. Norcliffe said, smilingly offering her 
hand to Clive, “ it is so long since we met — you were 
so very young then.” 

“I beg your pardon,” cried Clive, starting up and 
reddening at his thoughtlessness, “ I do remember you 
perfectly, Mrs. Norcliffe,” and he gave her hand a boy- 
ish grip, “ but it is so long since I have seen Miss Tre- 
vyllian — and she has been so ill since then — I do hope 
you will excuse my not seeing you.” 

“ Oh, you are quite excusable. We all feel very in- 
significant, compared with Sybil; we are only just 
beginning to realize that she is flesh and blood, like the 
rest of us.” 

“She doesn’t look very substantial yet, does she? I 
don’t know what Tiny will say when she sees you — 
Hullo, Norman !” Clive exclaimed, as his eyes fell on 
his cousin, and he rushed up to shake hands. “I’m 
awfully glad to see you, old chap — however appear- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


391 


ances may be against it,” he added, as he met Norman’s 
amused smile. 

“ Thanks ; and I am very glad to see you, my dear 
boy. When did you come to town?” 

“We all arrived at Campden Hill last night,” an- 
swered Clive. “Even the governor got tired of the 
‘saft’ weather up in Scotland. You have monopolized 
all the sunshine here in London, and I am glad of it,” 
he added to Sybil. “ It’s so nice for you to be able to 
sit in the garden, as Lorrie says you do, and to take 
drives. When may Tiny come and see you? She is 
dying to come, and so are the pater and mater, and the 
youngsters. They seem to think you belong to them, 
almost as much as you do to Tiny and me.” 

“ It is very good of them.” 

“Oh, no, it isn’t at all good of them,” cried Clive, 
springing up to forestall Norman in fetching Sybil her 
cup of tea. Norman placed the little stand for her cup 
and plate. “ It’s only natural — they’ve heard so much 
about you from us, and then they know — what’s to 
happen,” Clive finished audaciously, with a glance at 
Lorrie, who returned it with a calm smile, and setting 
down his empty cup came to Sybil’s side. 

“I am going to dine at Campden Hill,” he said, 
leaning on the arm of her chair, “ which will account to 
my aunt for my evening get-up.” 

“Oh, I quite understood as soon as I saw Mr. 
Graham,” Mrs. Norcliffe responded. 

“I think I shall be off now,” Lorrie said, kissing 
Sybil, “as I shan’t see you again to-night,” he ex- 
plained. “ My invitation said that I might come 
before the dinner hour. Shall you come with me, 
Clive?” ■ / 

“I suppose so,” Clive replied reluctantly; “but when 
may I come again?” he asked of Sybil. “I shall be 


392 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


going back to Eton soon, and I have no end of things to 
talk to you about.” 

“ Come whenever you like,” Sybil replied. “I shall 
always be glad to see my nice boy,” she added with a 
bright smile. 

“Thank you,” said Clive, with a blush of pleasure. 
“To-morrow, then? Monday?” 

“Come to tea on Monday,” Mrs. Norcliffe interposed. 
She had other plans for “to-morrow.” “And, Sybil, 
dear, you could see the colonel and Mrs. Graham and 
Miss Graham on Tuesday, couldn’t you?” 

“ Yes — or Monday. Do give my best love to Lynette, 
Clive, and tell her I am longing to see her.” 

“And I’ll tell the pater and mater that they may 
come on Tuesday; I can’t let them interfere with my 
visit on Monday, and the kids must wait.” 

“ Must I regard this unexpected pleasure as taking 
the place of the one I was looking forward to to-mor- 
row?” Norman asked, when Lorrie and Clive had 
departed, and he came to take leave. 

“Oh, no — why should you?” Mrs. Norcliffe replied, 
although the question was addressed to Sybil. “We 
should be very glad to have our share of the pleasure 
repeated, and my husband, who will be with us to-mor- 
row, will be delighted to see you and Mr. Hargreave. 
We can compare notes over our various summer wan- 
derings, you know.” 

“Thank you; then I shall come,” Norman said, with 
a grateful look that went to Mrs. Norcliffe’s heart. 

“ If you drop in at tea-time . you may find us all in 
the garden if the day is like this. Sybil must take ad- 
vantage of this wonderful weather.” She laughed, 
“One can’t help repeating that it is ‘glorious weather.’ 
Oh — and tea is at four, not five o’clock, as in summer.” 

“ Thanks — I shall not forget. ” 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


393 


‘‘Now, my dear child,” Mrs. Ndrcliffe exclaimed, as 
soon as Norman had gone, “ quiet is no word for what 
you must be between now and your next reception. 
Do you feel too tired — as if you had done too much 
and seen too many?” she asked anxiously, with a 
slight feeling of remorse and misgiving. 

“Oh, no! but Caroline evidently does not approve.” 
Caroline looked very grave, as she came with beef-tea 
and the tonic and saw Sybil’s white face and tired 
eyes. 

“ I don’t think the doctor would call it ‘making haste 
slowly’ if he knew that you had seen visitors on top 
of your first drive,” she said seriously. 

“ It is days since he said that, Nursey dear, and I do 
really feel better for my drive, and it was delightful to 
see Mr. Clive Graham again, and so unexpectedly.” 

Mrs. Norcliffe felt a jealous pang at Sybil’s mention 
of Clive, but a second thought relieved it. “ Rather a 
hopeful sign,” she said to herself; and while she talked 
busily of Lorrie and Lynette and other interesting 
topics, forgetting that she had not meant Sybil to speak 
or be spoken to until the next afternoon, she was think- 
ing — “What a beautiful love story it would make! 
shall make ! If heaven ever interferes in human love 
affairs it surely will in this case, to bring together two 
people so delightfully suited to each other — to make, in 
fact, an absolutely ideal match! Well, if I find it isn’t 
coming off, I shall be obliged to interfere, myself, 
though I don’t approve of putting one’s finger into love 
pies. I could not bear that Sybil should lose such a 
chance of happiness, nor that that unspeakably nice man 
should be disappointed and go mourning all his days, 
as I am sure he would, though nobody would know it. 
What would I not give to have seen her face with those 
eyes meeting hers !” 


394 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


As a matter of fact, Sybil had not met the look that 
had made such an impression on Mrs. Norcliffe. Nor- 
man’s unexpected appearance had been almost too 
much for her, in her weak state. It called for all the 
nerve and self-control of which she was mistress to 
seem unmoved, when her heart was beating wildly and 
her breath was coming in short, quick gasps, and for 
a moment she thought she should surely “disgrace” 
herself by fainting. She would have given much to 
be spared the necessity of doing more than smile and 
bow as they passed each other ; and no wonder she gave 
her hand to Norman and responded to his inquiries 
without meeting his eyes. It was the least, and the 
most, she could do to conceal her agitation of soul, 
while she could only hope her face was not betraying 
her. 

In truth, it was so calm and undisturbed in its deli- 
cate loveliness, that Norman’s heart sank before it. 
He said to himself that if she cared for him even as 
a friend, she could not meet him so coldly. She must 
be absolutely indifferent to him, and the love of a life- 
time, of which he felt she could not be wholty uncon- 
scious, was a worthless thing in her eyes. His heart 
cried out bitterly against his fate, but he did not tell 
himself that now he would tear the love out and cast 
it from him — he knew that would be impossible. “ The 
widest land Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in 
mine,” he said, as the door closed between them. 

And yet he had eagerly accepted Mrs. Norcliffe’s 
invitation to tea ; and could not bring himself to avoid 
the certainty of being again tortured by further proofs 
of the hopelessness of his love, by not seeing her the 
next day. 

If Nixie had known his state of mind that night, she 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


395 


would certainl}^ have felt justified in doing what she had 
not done yet— she would have told him what she and 
Lorrie had seen and heard during Sybil’s delirium, 
which had proved to them, beyond a doubt, that his 
love was returned. She had seen very little of him 
except at meals, lately, and had cherished the belief 
that he was waiting patiently for the hour when he 
could make his hope a ceriainty. 

She only saw him at dinner to-day, when he forced 
himself to mention, in a matter-of-fact way, that he 
had met Mrs. Norcliffe and Sybil out driving and gone 
home to tea with them, and that Clive had turned up, 
the family having returned to town. 

‘* If Sybil was able to take a drive to-day,” Lady 
Sara said, “she will soon be able to go to Hastings. 
I rather wonder at her caring to go to the seaside, 
^ even though it is not to the scene of the tragedy ; but 
I suppose the doctor thinks sea-air will do her more 
good than any other change; and, after all, one cannot 
go on indefinitely avoiding things because they are 
painful.” 

Mr. Hargreave had kept Norman’s secret from his 
wife, feeling that he had, as it were, come upon it 
unawares ; knowing, too, that she would not be pleased, 
he preferred her to hear of it in some other way than 
through him ; and Lady Sara persisted in cherishing the 
assurance that her fears had been groundless in regard 
to Norman’s feelings, having had no proof that he had 
suffered because of Sybil’s illness. But to make assur- 
ance doubly sure, she lost no opportunity of dropping 
a chance remark with the purpose of strengthening the 
impression that her illness was caused by the shock of 
Dr. Thornton’s death. Her plans concerning Norman 
and Lynette were at an end, of course; but there was 


396 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


Lady Clara Talbot, who was equally rich, though not 
so charming, perhaps. 

There were moments when her suggestions had all 
the weight she could have desired ; and to-day they had 
blotted out whatever remnant of hope might have 
survived in Norman’s heart after his meeting with 
Sybil. 


CHAPTEE LIII. 


I looked and saw your love 
In the shadow of your eyes. 

— Rossetti. 

ri"!HERE is a very serious question weighing on my 
1 mind, Sybil dear,” Mrs. Norcliffe said, as she 
seated herself by Sybil’s bedside on Sunday morning, 
before going down to breakfast with her husband and 
Lorrie, “ namely, this : what is to become of you when 
we return from Hastings? because you see, dear child, 
it is time I began to think of somebody else ; I must not 
go on indefinitely neglecting my poor husband and my 
house and servants.” 

“ Indeed you must not !” Sybil responded earnestly. 

“And I don’t like leaving you quite by yourself. 
When do you think Lorrie will be married? and do 
you like Miss Graham well enough to be quite happy 
here when she is installed as mistress?” 

“ I love her very dearly — as if she were my own sis- 
ter,” Sybil replied after an instant’s hesitation, her 
face paling and her eyes full of shadows, as they 
turned involuntarily to the crayon drawings of her 
father and mother that hung on the opposite wall. 
Sudden tears sprang to Mrs. Norcliffe’s eyes, for she 
had caught the look and understood its sorrowful mean- 
ing ; and she blamed herself sharply for having reminded 
Sybil of a dreary side to Lorrie’s marriage. I haven’t 
an idea when they will be married,” Sybil said with a 
determined cheerfulness that made her aunt furtively 
397 


398 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


dry her tears. “Of course nothing could be settled 
until they came back to town.” 

“ I devoutly hope Colonel Graham will not think it 
necessary to have a long engagement,” Mrs. Norcliffe 
said, restored to cheerfulness by the thought of her 
own plans and hopes for Sybil; “the sooner young 
things begin their life together, when they are once 
engaged, the better, I always think — the sooner they 
get used to each other’s wa3^s, and the longer their space 
for being glad. Hark ! there’s Uncle John calling me !” 
she exclaimed, as her husband’s voice was heard at the 
door, in remonstrance at her neglect of himself and 
Lorrie. 

“I’m coming at once, dear John,” she cried; “we 
will settle this momentous question another time, dear. 
I must really go and give those poor dears their break- 
fast now, ” and she hurried away, saying to herself as 
she went downstairs, “ I have other plans for j^ou, my 
dear Sybil, than your living with Lorrie and his wife, 
and playing the part of the self-sacrificing maiden 
aunt!” 

She was not quite sure of her plans running smoothly, 
knowing how difficult Sybil would be to manage in 
such a matter, but she was full of firm resolve and 
high courage. 

When four o’clock came the tea-table was set out 
under the cedar, and Mr. Norcliffe and Mr. Hargreave, 
and a Mr. and Mrs. Fanshawe, who had called, were 
enjoying the wonderful display of chrysanthemums in 
the borders beyond the cedar. Mrs. Norcliffe and Sybil 
had just gone into the house. 

“ No, dear child,” Mrs. Norcliffe had replied to Sybil’s 
entreaties that she might wait out for tea, “ I cannot 
let you stay another moment. The wind is in the east, 
and very soon the sun will drop behind the trees, and 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


399 


then there will be the chilliness in the air that the 
doctor warned us against.” 

“ Then why don’t we all have tea in the house, pray?” 
asked her husband. 

“ Why, indeed ! Is it such an every-day occurrence, 
being able to have tea in the garden after the middle 
of September, that you ask why we don’t have it in- 
doors?” demanded Mrs. Norcliffe, drawing Sybil’s hand 
through her arm. 

“ But it deprives us of the pleasure of Sybil’s com- 
pany, ” her husband urged ; “ and what is she to do, all 
by herself?” 

“ Let me go in with her !” begged Mrs. Fanshawe, 
who had a great admiration for Sybil, and would have 
liked nothing better than a tHe-a-tete chat with her. 

“ Thank you, dear Mrs. Fanshawe, but she will be 
all the better for being quiet until we join her after tea. 
I shall be back presently and she drew Sybil away, 
saying to herself, “ So far, so good !” 

When Sybil was quietly settled in the drawing-room, 
Mrs. Norcliffe regarded her with tenderly critical eyes. 

“ She was never lovelier than she is at this moment 
in spite of her looking so painfully delicate, as if a 
breath might blow her quite away,” was her silent ver- 
dict; “you never had a more becoming ‘little gown,’ 
as the dressmakers say, than the dainty thing you have 
got on now, Sybil, though I assert it that shouldn’t, 
having invented it myself,” she was saying aloud, 
when Mr. Norman Hargreave was announced. 

“You are not in the garden, after all,” he said, as he 
shook hands with Sybil. 

“ I have this moment brought her in,” Mrs. Norcliffe 
replied, “very much against her will, I am afraid; 
but I was certain she ought not to stay out any longer, 
with the wind in the east, and the early autumn chill 


400 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


coming on. The others are down under the cedar. 
Will you come with me? or, perhaps, you will come 
presently. I see Kifton is just taking out the urn and 
I suppose I must go.” 

May I come with you, and fetch Miss Trevyllian’s 
tea?” asked ISTorman, in almost painful uncertainty as 
to whether he might stay, as he so ardently wished 
to do. 

“Oh, don’t trouble, pray! I will send Kifton in 
with it;” and Mrs. Korcliffe hurried away to join the 
group in the garden with the air of one who is weighted 
with great responsibilities, but who takes a keen pleas- 
ure in the burden. 

When Sybil’s tea came there was a cup for Norman, 
too, much to his relief, as it gave him the excuse he 
desired — like one courting pain. 

“ I hope you felt the better for your drive yesterday,” 
he said, when he and Sybil were left to themselves. 

“Yes, thank you — it was such a perfect day — every- 
thing looks so lovely now, like summer rather than 
autumn.” Sybil was angry with herself for being 
unable to subdue a miserable feeling of trepidation, for 
which she said there was not the shadow of an excuse. 

“ And you were not too tired with having unexpected 
visitors after your drive, I hope?” 

“ Not in the least — it was such a pleasant surprise, 
seeing the nice boy — Clive, I mean,” she added with a 
smile, thinking Norman looked puzzled. 

“ Yes, I remember — that was the way you distin- 
guished him before you knew his name, after the res- 
cue,” he responded, smiling back. 

“ They were not to have returned from Scotland until 
October. I am very glad they have come so soon, for 
Lorrie’s sake.” She was instantly sorry for having 
referred, even indirectly, to Lorrie’s engagement. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


401 


“You are fond of Lynette, are you not?” 

“I am, indeed,” Sybil replied heartily , though finding 
the subject a trying one. 

“She is very nice — they are all very nice,” Norman 
said, as if by way of saying something ; and after a 
pause, he added, “ I may congratulate you, may I not, 
on Lorrie’s engagement, and wish you and him every 
happiness?” 

“ Thank you — I am very happy — Lorrie is so happy ; 
and Lynette is happy, too, 1 think. ” 

“ I am sure she is and I am very glad,” Norman said 
in a grave, gentle voice; and during the silence that 
followed, the words repeated themselves over and over 
again to Sybil’s ear — “I am very glad” — while Norman 
sat gazing out into the after-sunset light. 

Her eyes had slowly, and in spite of herself, turned to 
him, and in spite of herself they lingered, seeing for the 
first time how thin and worn his face was, and how 
sad his eyes were. With a sharp pain at her heart, 
she thought, “Has he been ill? TL/ianias made him 
suffer like this?” 

A sensation of faintness stole over her; but she 
rallied instantly, when he turned to her, and their eyes 
met. There was no help for it, she felt — she must say 
something to explain the glance he had taken by sur- 
prise. 

“ I was wondering if you had been ill,” she said, her 
voice betraying no inward agitation. 

“Why?” he asked, his eyes brightening; “do I look 
very cadaverous?” 

“ I thought you looked as if you might have had an 
illness,” she replied, a faint flush spreading over her 
face. “ I suppose having been ill one’s self makes one 
suspicious of other people,” she added, with a little 
laugh, for which she was instantly sorry ; how heart- 
26 


402 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


less it must sound, she thought, after what she had 
just said. 

“ I have been in my usual robust health, I believe, ” 
Norman said, his eyes having lost their momentary 
brightness. “ But you have really been very ill, ” he 
add^d after a slight pause. 

“Yes, I have,” she answered lightly, wondering how 
long she could bear this strain upon her strength and 
courage, the fear that they might fail her suddenly 
causing a chill to creep over her. 

“It was an anxious time for your friends,” Norman 
said, with an involuntary thrill in his voice; but he 
added with a smile, and in a lighter tone, “we are 
happy accordingly, in seeing you convalescent, and shall 
be happier still in seeing you well and strong once more.” 

“My friends are very good and kind,” Sybil returned 
with an answering smile. She listened to the sound 
of her own voice, and was relieved, indeed, to find it 
quite natural and calm. It gave her courage to speak 
of the roses, of which she had been thinking at inter- 
vals, ever since Norman came. 

“ I haven’t thanked you for the beautiful roses you 
sent me on my birthday, have I? It was very good of 
you to remember the day.” Even as she uttered the 
words her heart quaked, the first doubt of his having 
remembered the day after all, or having sent the roses, 
flashing across her. 

Norman had started and his eyes kindled for an 
instant as she spoke. 

“ Such involuntary acts on the part of memory as re- 
membering ‘the day ’ hardly count as good deeds, I am 
afraid,” he said slowly with a shadowy smile. “I am 
very glad you liked the roses,” he added; and that 
teasing doubt vanished from Sybil’s mind. 

“You and Nixie used always to celebrate Lorrie’s 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


403 


and my birthdays, when we were children, I remem- 
ber,” she remarked in the most matter-of-fact voice she 
could command. 

“And you and Lorrie, Nixie’s and mine, ! remem- 
ber,” Norman answered, with the same shadowy smile, 
hearing the matter-of-fact tone; and looking out, as 
if recalling far-away days. 

Sybil involuntarily stole another glance at him then, 
and started in dismay on finding that her eyes were 
filled with tears. 

Before she could brush them away or hide them, or 
even prevent others coming, Norman had turned to 
her. He saw the tears, and the sudden crimson that 
burned in her cheek, and he leaned toward her, his 
whole heart in his face. He sat thus for a moment, as 
if fearing to move or speak, lest the hope that was 
dazzling his soul should fade into despair. 

“Sybil!” it was all he could say, but the pent-up 
love and heart-hunger of years looked from his eyes 
into hers as he knelt beside her. 

“ Sybil !” he said once more, and his voice betokened 
his deep agitation. “What did those tears mean? 
Will you not tell me?” he entreated, as Sybil leaned 
back in her chair, pale and trembling and speechless. 

“I am hoping, Sybil,” he said in tones that thrilled 
Sybil’s heart. “ If it is presumption, I must cease to 
be presumptuous”— the pall of sudden pain overspread 
his face, but it passed as Sybil’s eyes met his, and her 
lips parted as if to speak, though no words came. 

“ Sybil, listen 1” he said, “ and I will tell you what I 
have been daring to hope since I saw those tears.” He 
paused a moment to master his emotion. “ This hope 
—it blinds my soul with its brightness,” he cried under 
his breath, covering his eyes momentarily, as if they, 
too, were dazzled. 


404 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ I love you, Sybil !” he said, seeking her eyes once 
more, “ I love you, and I am daring to hope that you — 
that my heart has found your heart at last. Is it true? 
— or is it only a heavenly dream, from which I must 
rouse myself to have no hope for evermore?” 

Again Sybil’s lips parted, but she found no voice; 
her eyes drooped, and she sat motionless, her hands 
clasped together in her lap. If she had thought con- 
sciously of her own sensations, she might have wondered 
if this was what a disembodied spirit felt on finding 
itself in heaven — faint and hushed with new-found 
bliss. 

“Sybil — what did those tears mean?” Norman asked 
again, smiling at his own persistence, while his lips 
trembled, and his face grew white and tense, as one 
who awaits his sentence of life or death — with hope 
uppermost. 

“They meant,” Sybil answered, finding voice at last, 
though soft and low as a breath of summer, “ that you 
looked ill and sad, and — I couldn’t bear it!” 

There never was anything seen sweeter than Sybil’s 
face, as she made her answer — her eyes tenderly bright, 
her cheeks aglow, like the heart of a rose, her lips tremu- 
lous, and over all the soft light of her new happiness. 

“Bless those tears!” Norman ejaculated, taking her 
hands in his, and resting his forehead upon them. 

Sybil’s fingers involuntarily closed round his, and 
blissful tears filled her eyes. 

“My darling! mine at last!” With inexpressible 
gentleness Norman kissed away the tears, while Sybil 
sat breathless and still, and for a little time there was 
a sweet, eloquent silence. 

“ Why do you look ill and sad?” Sybil asked tenderly, 
seeing anew the tokens of suffering in the beloved 
face. 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


405 


“Do I look sad?” he asked with a sudden, bright 
smile. 

“ Why did you, then?” she said, smiling but wistful. 

“ I have loved you so long, dear, and with so little 
hope — almost with no hope — of your ever loving me, 

and lately you have been in such peril ” His voice 

broke and he paused as if the memory, even, of those 
terrible weeks was overmastering. 

“ Dear Herman !” sighed Sybil, out of the fulness of 
her love and pity. His eyes and lips thanked her. “ Is 
it so very long?” she asked presently in low tones. 

“Long, dear?” Norman said slowly, as if looking 
back over the years ; “ I can hardly remember a time 
when I didn’t love you. You were the idol of my boy- 
ish worship, and as time went on you became enshrined 
in my heart of hearts, my queen, my ideal of all that 
was lovely and worthy a man’s devotion. How is it 
that you have never known, or at least suspected, that I 
loved you, Sj^bil? Or did you know?” he asked, with 
an eager, questioning look into her eyes. 

“ I never knew — you never told me,” Sybil answered 
after an instant’s pause, with a faint smile of wonder- 
ful sweetness, not meeting his gaze. 

“ Tell me, dearest, ” he said, “ should I have gained, 
or lost all, if I had had more courage? Could you, 
would you, have given me this” — raising her hand gen- 
tly to his lips — “ if I had dared to ask for it sooner — if 
I had found you sooner?” 

“I think I could,” Sybil answered softly. 

“ My darling, when could you have given it to me — 
this priceless gift — if I had dared to ask? Tell me 
when?” he pleaded. 

Sybil hesitated for a moment, and when she spoke it 
was with an effort, and her voice was tremulous. 

“When I had sat in the balcony at Domo d’Ossola — 


406 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


behind the jalousies^ while you and Nixie and Lord 
Netherhj^ talked with your friends, in the little salon. 
Then — if not before.'' 

Though the last words were scarcely more than a 
breath, Norman heard them, and his eloquent eyes and 
lips brought the bright color to her cheeks. But his 
lips trembled and his face was pale as he said : 

“ Sybil, do you mean that I was near enough to you 
that day to hear your voice if you had spoken, and for 
you to recognize mine? and that a few steps would have 
taken me to your side? and you let me go without a 
word or sign? Can it be true that you loved me then 
and yet could be so cruel?” His eyes were full of ten- 
der questioning as he awaited her answer. 

“Yes it is true,” Sybil answered, pressing back the 
tears; “but I was spell-bound; and, besides — O Nor- 
man, you do, you must understand how it was. And 
how could I know I was being cruel? I didn’t know 
you loved me then,” she said, with a faint, wistful 
smile, “ and I am not sure that I — knew then that I — 
loved you — as I did — until you were gone, and I felt 
that I never, never should see you again !” She shud- 
dered at the thought of that desolate moment. 

“My darling, I have been a coward. I deserve all I 
have suffered, and tenfold more, for I have made you 
suffer too — you whom I would have given my life to 
save from pain.” His voice was broken and full of self- 
reproach, and Sybil leaned toward him, with tears of 
tender protest in her eyes, but she could not speak at 
once, and he went on: “I was afraid — yes, I was a 
coward — I was afraid of losing you altogether if I let 
you see all my heart, and I felt it was easier to live on 
without your love than to run that terrible risk. Your 
eyes were always kind until you came from St. Clements, 
but I never could find, search as I would, one trace of 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


407 


anything sweeter than friendship in their clear depths ; 
and your friendship was so infinitely dearer to me than 
anything else, except your love, that I went on, waiting 
and watching— in vain ! Sybil !” he exclaimed, clasping 
her hands and compelling her eyes to meet his, “ if you 
ever really loved me before this day of days, you kept 
your secret as no secret was ever kept before or ever 
will be again !” 

Sybil met his look with a smile that grew tremu- 
lous. 

“ Forgive me, ” she murmured half playfully. 

“Forgive you, my dearest!” ejaculated Norman ten- 
derly. “ Forgive me ! coward that I was. But I was 
punished, oh, sorely, when you vanished from my sight 
utterly, for three endless years. They seemed endless 
in the passing, but, thank God, they have come to an 
end at last.” He bent his head — not before Sybil had 
seen the gleam of tears, and fervently kissed the hands 
he held. 

After a little silence he said : “ Tell me, dearest, if you 
had known that day when you were sitting in the bal- 
cony that my heart was at that very moment crying out 
for you — that I was searching for you then — that I had 
gone abroad with no other thought than to find you, 
and that I would have gone to the ends of the earth 
and through any torture for the sake of a look from your 
eyes and the sound of your voice, even if you could 
never love me — if you had known, you would have 
come from your hiding-place and have let me see your 
heart then, would you not, as I see it now? I am an 
importunate beggar as well as a coward,” he added, 
with one of .his sudden smiles, “but my queen is gener- 
ous and gracious and forgiving.” 

“ I would have come to you— if I had known,” Sybil 
answered softly. 


408 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


“ My darling!” iN’orman’s voice failed him suddenl}^, 
and he rested his arm on the arm of her chair, covering 
his eyes with his hand, trembling as even a strong, 
proud man may, once in his life. In truth, he was 
struggling for mastery over a pressure of emotions that 
almost unnerved him. 

Sybil leaned forward and softly pressed her quivering 
lips upon the hand that covered his eyes. 

The look with which he thanked her for that sweet 
act of grace almost made her heart stand still. 

“What is it, dearest?” Norman asked with startled 
eyes, breaking the brief silence that followed, for Sybil 
had shuddered; “what made you shudder, dear, and 
turn so pale?”* 

“ I was thinking how terrible it was — when I be- 
lieved ” 

“ Believed what, dearest?” asked Norman anxiously, 
as she stopped speaking and leaned back. 

“ When I believed you were — dead, and that I had 
stood by and seen you buried,” Sybil whispered, cling- 
ing to .his hand. 

“Did you think that, my love? How came you to 
think that?” 

“I hardly understand how it was,” Sybil replied 
faintly. “ Lorrie knew, almost from the first, that it 
was poor Dr. Thornton” — for one brief moment Nor- 
man felt cold at her mention of that name, that had 
lately figured so much in his misery — “ but be didn’t 
speak of it to me until he came back from London, 
after seeing you and Nixie; he thought it kinder to 
wait than to let me have it to think of while he was 
away — and when he did tell me somehow no name was 
mentioned. It seems ^ery strange, but he told me all 
about Nixie and her great sorrow and who the little 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


409 


sea-king was, only he didn’t say who the friend was — 
he always spoke of him as ‘the friend’ — that brought 
little Jack home, and I could only think of you — while 
Lorrie thought I knew. Oh, it was too, too dreadful.” 
She covered her face with her hands, but Norman 
quickly took them into his own keeping again. 

“ My poor darling !” he said pitifully, thinking, but 
not feeling it worth while to say, what mistaken kind- 
ness it was for Lorrie not to tell her the truth at once — 
“ you have had too much to bear. I must fill your life so 
full of happiness from this time on that there will be 
no room for the memory, even, of pain and sadness — 
would that I could,” he said fervently, gazing into the 
lovely eyes with infinite tenderness. “ I have so much 
to atone for myself,” he added remorsefully. 

“ Oh, no ! oh, no !” Sybil said, clasping his hand in 
both of hers, in protest against his self-reproach. 

“ Oh, yes ! oh, yes !” he returned with a tender caress. 
“When did you know the truth, dearest?” he asked 
presently. 

“When you came to the train to meet little Jack,” 
Sybil answered. 

“ I went to the train to meet Sybil, as I think she must 
know by this time,” Norman said, with a slight turn 
of the head, and a half -humorous light in his eyes that 
took Sybil instantly back to the old days — she remem- 
bered the gesture and the look so well. 

“ How those clear eyes could have been so blind I 
cannot understand,” he said, his bright gaze shining 
into the clear eyes until they drooped under it. “ But 
what made you ill, dearest, on that never-to-be-forgotten 
morning?” he asked, greedy for more confessions from 
the sweet lips; “why did you faint, dear? Was it the 
long journey, as Lorrie said, or the sight of me. 


410 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAK 


alive, when you thought I was dead and buried, that 
overcame you? Tell me.” 

“ I suppose it was — the sight of you,” Sybil answered 
softly. 

“ Then why, why, why did you treat me then, and on 
and on, until within the last half-hour, as if you were 
utterly and hopelessly indifferent to me? as if, if 
there were a warmer feeling than indifference in your 
heart, it was dislike?” 

“ Oh, no, no ! cried Sybil earnestly. “ I never meant 
to seem anything but friendly — as we were in the old 
days ” 

“As you were in the old days,” suggested Norman, 
with a gleam in his dark eyes that Sybil answered with 
a little smile. “ But you were not even ‘friendly;’ how 
was it, Sybil?” he asked, the gleam giving place to 
tenderness, as his eyes rested on her face, where the 
fitful color only seemed to make the effect of her illness 
more apparent, while, as her aunt had declared, it never 
was more lovely. 

“ I was so afraid ” she began, and stopped. 

“ That I should take a little hope and courage from 
a kind word or look?” asked Norman playfully. 

“ No, not that ! I never dreamed that you needed or 
wished for any hope or courage from me.” Her cheeks 
glowed, and a smile lurked in the corners of her mouth, 
and she would not meet Norman’s eyes ; while the almost 
imperceptible and wholly unconscious emphasis on the 
“me” impelled Norman to ask: 

“ W as there any one from whom you thought I might 
crave a little encouragement?” 

Sybil hesitated and then answered demurely, “ I 
thought you might have been glad of a little from — 
Lynette.” 

“From my little cousin Lynette!” ejaculated Nor- 


SYBIL TREVYLLIAN. 


411 


man, with mingled amusement and tender reproach in 
his look and tone. “ Oh, blind Sybil ! you were as 
blind as those who will not see !” He held her hands 
and looked into her eyes with a wonderful light in his 
own, and a wonderful smile playing about his mouth. 
“ What do you think now, my beloved?” he asked. 

Sybil turned her head away — she did not like him 
to see that there were tears in her eyes, though they 
were tears of utter happiness, and he could only see the 
lovely flush on her cheek, and the tremulous curves of 
the lovely mouth. But as she caught a glimpse of 
several flgures crossing the lawn toward the house, 
she met his adoring gaze with a grave, sweet smile. 

“I think,” she said, “that they are coming in from 
the garden.” 


THE END. 




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